Reactivity
by consoul
Summary: Solving crime isn't an easy task, and it's especially harder for Sam, who doesn't even do it for a living. The Crucifier is still on the loose though, intent on wreaking havoc in ways only he and Gabe, his P.I partner, know. A gang war looms on the horizon, and it's a race against time to stop the balance in Lawrence from being tipped irrevocably. Book 2 of the Chromaticity series.
1. Sapere Aude

_Here's my all-encompassing disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any characters affiliated with the show. Now, on to the story!_

**Chapter One: Sapere Aude**

"_It was the heat of the moment…"_

The ringtone was what woke him. He associated it with impending adventure and had heard it enough times that it woke him better than any alarm he'd ever set.

"_Telling me what your heart meant…"_

Bright sunlight greeted Sam as he cracked open his eyes. It was too bright to be the early morning light he was used to seeing when waking, which meant he'd slept in. He wasn't sure whether to be mad at himself or not about it, but upon finding that many of his muscles felt as if they'd been put through the wringer and back, he decided that he'd probably deserved every second of it.

"_The heat of the moment shone in your eyes…"_

Sam sat up with a groan, ignoring the creaking of the pull-out bed beneath him as he tried to locate where Gabe's phone was. That ringtone meant someone from the LPD was calling, which was important because…

The events from the night before came flooding back, providing an explanation for his soreness and the faint smell of smoke coming from the strewn clothes at the foot of the bed.

_Right. The Roadhouse burned down last night, and the Dead Eyes did it._

In what he could pinpoint now as Gabe's room, the phone fell silent as the call went unanswered. Sam had a fleeting thought that he should probably grab the P. I's phone for him but shoved it aside. He didn't want to disturb Gabe, and besides, he'd probably wake on the second call. If it was important, they'd call back.

Just as he thought, the ringtone started up again, but this time it didn't play for long. There was a rustle of sheets from behind the ajar sliding door that led to Gabe's room, a muffled thud as what sounded like the phone itself fell to the ground, and then a mumbled curse.

Sam smiled automatically (that was definitely Gabe) before falling back with a wince against the pillow.

He wasn't sure how he'd gotten _here_ of all places last now, but in all honesty, he didn't mind. Despite only having been here a couple of times, Sam found Gabe's apartment to be a comforting place that was quickly becoming familiar to him. He'd woken at peace as if he had been in his own apartment, and he didn't feel he had to scurry around and leave as quickly as possible. Gabe's aura lulled him even further into a relaxed state, easing the mild stress that had already begun upon remembering what had happened last night.

The aura turned to white gold where the sun touched it, illuminating the apartment even more than it already was. Sam had half a mind to reach out and touch it (Gabe's aura was just like that), and did so, ignoring the protesting tug of his muscles as he acted upon a whim.

His fingers swished through the colors, swirling through a warmth that didn't come from the morning sun. Sam wasn't one to physically reach out and try to touch auras; beyond base physical sensations he sometimes received from them, like an electric shock, warmth, or cold, they weren't really things to _touch_. It was all in the vision, and the feelings _they_ gave _him_ through the weird sixth sense that allowed him to even see them at all. On the few occasions he'd reached out towards one (and he didn't for obvious reasons), he didn't really get anything understandable, and certainly nothing more than what his eyes instinctively told him. Touching an aura was like talking to a child while seeing one was talking to an adult.

Sam let his arm fall awkwardly off the edge of the bed, brow furrowing as he contemplated the golden shades lingering in the air.

He may have been an emotionally constipated idiot (or just a Winchester, depending on who you asked), but he was no fool. Something had changed between him and Gabe last night, or maybe it had simply been exposed by the high-tension situation of the Roadhouse burning down. Whatever it was, it was _different_ from the strange partnership they'd originally struck up on that Tuesday night that felt so long ago.

Romantic? Sam thought maybe so; he couldn't deny that it was something along those lines now. Gabe was charismatic, and his aura captivating in all of its untamable golden glory. Flashy auras had pulled Sam in before (Jess' had been a bright, summery sky blue in the beginning after all), but auras were just a part of it. He could say that he while he'd initially been interested in Gabe himself for his aura, it hadn't remained that way for long.

Lisa was right; he'd been inexplicably _happy_ ever since he'd started his tumultuous adventure with Gabe. Chasing after a serial killer was about as stressful and crazy as it sounded, but all those little moments in between the crime-solving had been the best Sam had had in a while. Some had been full of trouble and as equally exhausting as the crime-solving, but they were still the best.

Gabe was more than just a flashy aura and pretty eyes; he was intelligent, hilarious, and compassionate. He stuck to his guns, respected the boundaries he'd set, and listened with a reservoir of patience that somehow only existed in the moments he acted as a listening ear. Gabe's aura was captivating, but Gabe _himself_ was just as alluring with his smirks and raked back hair and moments of crime-related genius.

_He's also a guy._

Sam felt his face warm a little as his mind reminded him of _that_ glaring fact.

It wasn't that he was _against_ the idea; he could admit certain men were handsome, and while Lisa had also been right (how she did it he'd never know) when she'd said he'd have to think on his sexuality a bit, he thought that he could accept he was into guys. He'd just never _liked_ any of them before.

The sliding door rolled open, sparing Sam from torturing himself with any more (dare he say it?) _romantic_ thoughts of Gabe as the man himself emerged.

He looked exactly as if he'd woken ten minutes before from a very deep sleep. His hair was a mess, and his face was pinched with grogginess, eyes squinted as he shuffled out into the light-bathed living room. The Ouroboros tattoo shifted as he raised his arms to stretch them over his head, revealing a strip of skin above the low riding hem of his flannel pajama pants.

"Mornin' Sam-a-lam," he mumbled, yawning loudly. His aura was still half asleep, but the gold was coming alive with every minute. "Have you been awake long?"

Sam tore his eyes away from what was _supposed_ to be a perfectly average strip of skin and cleared his throat.

"Not much longer than you," he responded, sitting up and scratching his neck to hide his traitorous thoughts of skin, "Guess we were both pretty tired last night."

Gabe smiled softly before approaching the edge of the bed and sitting on it, patting his soot-stained clothes.

"Yeah, last night was pretty wild, and that's coming from _me_," he said with a trademark wink that drew an eye roll from the Winchester.

"Who were you talking to?" Sam asked, deciding to just go for it. He had a pretty good idea that it had either been Jody or Donna, but what had been actually discussed was more important.

Gabe's smile slipped a bit, and he pulled his phone out of his pants pocket before fiddling with it.

"Jody," he said with a sigh, "It's…well, it's not the _best_ news, but it's not the absolute worst either."

Sam scooted closer to Gabe, who smiled at him appreciatively before beginning to recount his phone conversation.

"The LPD's largest priority right now is still finding The Crucifier," Gabe began, wrinkling his nose with distaste at the title, "There's been nothing new since they found Mitchell though, and apparently everyone's concerned about the lack of a new victim. His timetable was extremely fast-paced, and the sudden stop has come out of nowhere."

"That can't be good," Sam murmured, and the P.I hummed in agreement.

"Everyone's antsy over there. Besides guarding over Hoffman and Olsen, they're twiddling their thumbs."

His expression mustn't have been very nice, because Gabe sighed understandingly and patted his shoulder.

"I know kiddo. That's why we're going to handle things from our end."

Golden colors caressed his skin, a now familiar feeling that Sam relished and leaned into a bit as he tried to control his anger towards the LPD.

_They were the ones that fucked up Mom's case, _he thought, _but that doesn't mean another killer will get away. Not if I can help it._

"I don't go back on my promises, Sam," Gabe said quietly, his fingers tightening a bit as his aura grew stronger.

The heat made the Winchester look up to see the determination that had been in his voice reflected in his eyes and aura in the form of reddish gold. Sam hadn't begun to doubt the promise they'd made each other last night at the Roadhouse, and he wasn't going to start now. He may have had his doubts before when their partnership had still been new, but things were different now.

_How much different is yet to be determined, but that'll have to wait._

"You're right," he responded, exhaling sharply through his nose as pushed the fallible LPD out of his mind for the moment, "What else did Jody say? Did she mention anything about the Roadhouse?"

"Unfortunately," Gabe said, his mood slipping to something like frustration as the edges of his aura shifted to a light vermilion, "It's the lack of a sound investigation that's the problem."

Sam looked at him questioningly, and the P.I sighed before raking a hand through his hair. To his amusement, it only made Gabe's bedhead worse, and he stifled a snort at the sight. Gabe looked at him suspiciously before continuing.

"The LPD has so much manpower directly, and indirectly, focused on catching the Crucifier that just about everything is coming secondary to it," he explained, "They don't want the Feds coming in."

"The Feds never came in on Mom's case," Sam stated, "Because…Yellow Eyes stopped?"

Gabe nodded, "From what I've gathered, they were very close to coming in when your mother was killed. However, Yellow Eyes stopped, and they never did."

Sam mulled over the information. John had been obsessed with Yellow Eyes (still was to a certain extent), and as a result, he'd dug up all sorts of information on the case, which had led to the Winchesters' low opinion of the LPD. Sam thought it was the main reason why they'd been trained in the first place; John didn't trust the LPD to keep the city and his sons safe, so he took it upon himself to do it.

To his surprise, the bitter resentment that always came with thinking of John and his fucked-up childhood wasn't as strong as it usually was. It was still there; Sam thought it'd _always_ be there, but it wasn't blinding in its immensity. He could actually _think_ about his past without shying away from it or hiding behind his resentment.

_Those few times John and my childhood were brought up when I was talking with Gabe, it was sort of like this too._

Maybe it was the circumstances of the case and the past that lay interconnected in it. Maybe it was Gabe's aura making him feel like this, but he doubted it.

Or maybe he was just somehow coming to terms with it in his own way.

"How close are the Feds to coming in on this case?" he asked, shoving all of his thoughts aside to focus on the present. The past would just have to wait.

"Close," Gabe said grimly, "If a fifth victim shows up before the LPD figures _something_ out, it's just about guaranteed."

"And it'd be a lot harder to work around the Feds _and_ the LPD."

"Smart as always," Gabe remarked with a pleased smile, drawing a faint blush from Sam, "I think _everyone's_ hoping there won't be a fifth victim, but that'd be too much to hope for. If he's waiting this long, he must be biding his time and gearing up for something. Serial killers don't stop without good reason."

"We'll have to use that to our advantage," Sam mused, already thinking of things they could do before his mind reminded him of the original part of the conversation.

"Wait, what does this have to do with the Roadhouse?"

Gabe tapped his phone in a staccato beat against his thigh, "There's only a bare minimum investigation going on right now into the destruction of the Roadhouse. Everyone and their grandma knew that it was a gang hit by the Dead Eyes since there were countless eyewitnesses, but there's very little effort going into actually _finding_ any of the Dead Eyes. The fire department is taking their sweet time investigating the arson, and there's only a pair of shabby detectives on the case. Their solve rate is shitty, and everyone knows it."

His voice had been relatively even throughout his explanation, but there was a loaded look in Gabe's eyes that told him to read between the lines.

_Corruption._

Sam's hands clenched into fists, the hot feeling of anger filling his chest. He wasn't usually quick to anger, but when it came to certain things (like the _LPD_), he lit up quicker than a match and burned twice as fast.

"They can't _do_ that," he hissed, clenching his jaw, "People could've _died_ last night, and they're just going to give a half-assed effort into catching the Dead Eyes?"

He stood abruptly, pacing in the small space between the bed and the coffee table that had been shoved to the side to make room for the pull-out mattress. Sam didn't want to be angry in front of Gabe, not when they were trying to have a discussion, and decided to channel it into pacing back and forth.

"Bastards," he muttered, remembering all the times John had said to never trust the LPD.

It had been like a mantra in his youth, one that had stuck despite his career choice as a lawyer (and how ironic was that?). He'd almost-_almost_ let it subside while in college, but ever since he'd started working with Gabe, it was back.

_Never trust the LPD to do anything right. _

Sam paced faster, tugging fiercely on his fringe.

"The Roadhouse is-_was_ important," he said, correcting himself with a faint sadness the anger didn't let him feel completely, "They can't do that. It's not _fair_."

_Fair._

Sam knew life wasn't fair. Knew it more intimately than many people and had managed over the years to resign himself to the fact that Winchesters simply didn't _get_ anything fair out of life. They got the short stick and _made_ it long through blood, sweat, and tears. Sam had done that when he'd blazed a path through all the obstacles in his way to becoming a lawyer, even going through John to do so.

The Roadhouse burning down was different though. It didn't _just_ affect Sam; many others like Ellen and Jo had been connected to the beloved restaurant, and the least they deserved was a proper investigation, and for the Dead Eyes to pay for what they'd done. The weak effort by the LPD wasn't _fair_ to them, but Sam wouldn't let it lie.

Something John had said a long time ago, back when their training had still been something new and incomprehensible, came back to Sam. He hadn't said it as much as his opinions of the LPD, but he'd said it often enough for him to remember it.

"_There's a lot of unfairness in the world, boys. Now, you can either live with it or do something about it. Live with the unfairness or _make_ things fair."_

He'd _make_ it fair.

A warm hand on Sam's back made him turn to see Gabe standing behind him, aura spreading from down his arm to his palm, sinking into his skin and taking the edge off his anger. Only then did Sam realize that the only thing he was wearing was his boxers and that Gabe had a full view of what Sam had gone through.

He didn't have many scars; Sam had always healed fast, and John had never beaten them. The few he had were from training, or from taking part in dumb dares with Dean. The only thing of interest on his back was a long, thin scar from where he'd been thrown through a window (a _very_ long story), and a tattoo above his right shoulder blade.

"Lots of things in life aren't fair Sammo," Gabe said, tugging him by the elbow.

Sam resisted the pull for a moment. His anger was rapidly diminishing though, and he let it go with a sharp sigh before letting himself be turned around.

He ducked his head before he could look Gabe in the eyes. In close proximity like this, he was keenly aware of his lack of clothes, and the way Gabe's white shirt made his tan skin glow.

"That doesn't mean they have to _stay_ unfair though," the P.I continued, "We can do something about it, and we will. You just have to trust in our ability to do so."

Sam glanced up at Gabe through his fringe, a little shocked that he'd sounded much like his thoughts. It was as if he'd read his mind.

_Or maybe he understands._

"You've had a pretty unfair life, haven't you," he stated, taking in Gabe's aura.

There were the ever-present gold and pastel hues that shimmered pearlescent, but there was more to it. The unyielding shade of reddish gold stuck to his body; the determination that had been there since last night when they'd made their promise. But there was also a strange pinker hue that led Sam to believe in his words.

_Empathy._

Gabe said nothing, but the pink grew just a bit stronger, and Sam decided that it would have to be enough for now. He'd suspected that Gabe hadn't had an easy life, but this was (at least to him) undeniable confirmation.

"What does your tattoo mean?" Gabe asked instead, smoothly enough that if he hadn't been able to see auras, Sam would've doubted his statement.

He let it go though. They had a lot on their plate right now, and Gabe wanted to focus on present matters (the reddish gold _clearly_ indicated that). Besides, he had his own secrets, and Gabe had respected them. Sam could do the same.

_Maybe once all this serial killer business gets settled, we can exchange secrets. A secret for a secret._

Sam didn't have much hope of that ever happening; they both just had too _many_ secrets, but it was still nice to think of.

"_'Sapere Aude'_," he said, the shoulder that held the two words rolling a bit, "It means 'dare to know'."

He could see the words now, simple lettering like a stamp against his skin. It was relatively small and nondescript, even stark in its simplicity. The few people that knew of it tended to express confusion about it, and Jess had said it could do with a bit of jazzing up.

Gabe, however, was not like other people.

"Of course," he said with a bright smile, the kind that crinkled the edges of his eyes and lightened his aura to match, "It makes a lot of sense, now that I know you're such a nerd."

He reached out to punch his arm playfully, jolting Sam out of the mild nervousness he hadn't known he'd been feeling until then.

The only person that had accepted his tattoo was Kevin, and that was only after admonishing him for getting it so impulsively. Not even Jess had managed to wrap her mind around it, but Gabe just took it in stride.

Maybe that was one of the differences between her and Gabe. There were lots of differences and similarities between them (they both shared an _ungodly_ amount of stubbornness, that was for sure), but for some reason, this difference stuck out more than Sam thought it would.

"You just wish you had a cool Latin phrase for a tattoo," he retorted, and Gabe crossed his arms and turned up his nose.

"I certainly do _not_. You can keep your dead language."

"Hey!"

They devolved into a brief argument about the validity of Latin before Sam realized that he was still standing in his underwear, and now that Gabe was more alert, a very _familiar_ shade of cherry red was making itself apparent in his aura.

"Uh, I should take a shower," he said, feeling his ears warm with embarrassment as Gabe's eyes began to drift downwards.

He snatched up his clothes and held them in front of his chest like a shield. It wasn't that he minded Gabe looking at him (not with those stupidly pretty eyes of his), but he wasn't sure how to go about doing anything about the cherry red when Sam hadn't managed to figure out what he was feeling on his own end.

_Not to mention the million and one other things we have on our plates right now. _

"Right, right," Gabe said absentmindedly before his eyes snapped up to his face, "I know it's a longshot, but you're welcome to any of the clothes in my closet. Maybe you can make a T-shirt work."

In the morning light, Gabe's eyes looked like gold. Or the whiskey the Roadhouse served. Sam couldn't decide which, but the decision was taken out of his hands when Gabe blinked at him and he realized he had been staring.

"Right," Sam said, his ears on fire now (it was a small miracle he'd let his hair grow out), "Shower. I'm going."

He promptly fled, which, while not his best moment, was an acceptable course of action for a Winchester. However gung-ho John had been in training, not to mention their family dynamic was in general, he'd also been taught that there was no shame in beating a hasty retreat when the situation called for it.

_Look at me taking a page out of the Winchester handbook as an excuse. The fire must've addled my brain._

In the safety of the bathroom, Sam relaxed, and after cursing his own ineptness, decided to take the time to regroup. When he left the bathroom, he'd be calm and collected, and ignore the relationship change for now. Not forever; he wasn't an idiot. Just… _temporarily_. There were more pressing matters at hand, and Sam knew he'd need time to _really_ think things through anyway. For all he knew, he was just making a big deal out of nothing, and not much had changed between him and Gabe at all.

It wasn't until halfway through his extremely needed shower that Sam realized with a jolt what had bothered him so much when he'd compared Jess and Gabe. Usually, when he thought of Jess, even if it was just once, he always felt bummed out and caught in past regrets for a while after, but that hadn't happened. In fact, he'd thought of Jess _multiple_ times that morning, but he'd barely noticed.

Because, for the first time since he'd broken up with her, Sam hadn't felt any pain at the loss of her.

…

Taking a shower to get clean only to be greeted by dirty clothes was a major letdown. Fortunately, Sam's jeans were still relatively intact. Besides the soot stains that littered it, it was wearable. His shirt, on the other hand, looked exactly as if it'd been put through a fire and back, and there was no way in hell he was going to put it back on.

"That bad?" Gabe asked as he stepped out, and Sam nodded before tossing him the offending piece of clothing. He felt a bit awkward striding out in just his jeans, but there was nothing to be done about it.

"It's a lost cause," he said, drying his hair with a towel as he walked towards the living room, "I guess I'll just have to settle for one of your tiny shirts."

Gabe harrumphed and acted put out but walked into his room and came out with a new shirt. His old one was nowhere in sight.

"Try this," he said, tossing the plain black T-shirt at him.

_It smells like him, _was Sam's first thought before he noticed the faint tendrils of the man's aura, like gossamer against the dark fabric, _And his aura clings even to this._

It smelled like detergent, and beneath that the fainter scent of Gabe's cologne. A perfectly acceptable and average scent for a shirt, but Sam supposed it was the flimsy threads of aura that had him surreptitiously sniffing the shirt as he tugged it over his head.

He almost ripped a seam trying to get his arms in it, but he eventually managed to get the shirt on. It stuck to his skin and ended about an inch above his jeans, but the important thing was that Sam now had a shirt.

Gabe stared at him for a moment before bursting out into laughter. Sam crossed his arms and frowned, but instantly regretted the action when the shirt rode up even further and stretched uncomfortably across his shoulders. Gabe just laughed harder, his aura lightening to match his humor.

"I can't believe you actually managed to get in on," he said between fits of laughter, and Sam's mouth twitched before he gave in and laughed as well. It was hard to resist when Gabe laughed like that.

"I can't either," he admitted, tugging down the shirt in vain. He wasn't sure if he was imagining it or not, but he thought the shirt was a bit warmer than it would've been without Gabe's aura, "I really have to go back home looking like this too."

That set off a new round of laughter for Gabe, and Sam rolled his eyes good-naturedly before entering the kitchen.

"Come on, don't you want some coffee?"

Gabe did indeed want coffee, along with some proper breakfast food. Apparently, pancakes were the way to go, which Sam agreed with (a big breakfast was always good after using so much adrenaline). He let the P.I cook while he handled their coffee. Despite having his own acceptable cooking skills, his range of motion was limited in Gabe's shirt.

Eating breakfast with Gabe consisted of a lot of multitasking. Gabe was intent on getting to work as soon as possible, and somehow managed to eat, make Sam laugh at semi-dirty jokes, _and_ write in the red journal Sam had seen the first time he'd been to his apartment. He wasn't sure what the difference was between the red one and the black one Gabe always carried around with him, but he wouldn't ask. The red one seemed more private.

"Is this the part where we bounce ideas off of your whiteboard and hope we have epiphanies that'll save the day?" Sam asked once they'd finished eating.

"Not hope; we _will_!" Gabe exclaimed as he slid off his stool and ran into his room.

Sam shook his head indulgently as he gathered up their dishes. Gabe always seemed to get a bit more hyper whenever he'd had a cup of coffee, and he was sure their syrupy pancakes hadn't helped matters.

"You don't have to do that, Sammo," Gabe said as he wheeled the whiteboard out.

"Too late," Sam retorted mildly, "Anything new on the board?"

"Just some info on Mitchell," he replied, shoving the coffee table to make room for the board, "Donna snuck me a few pictures from his crime scene."

Sam walked over to the board, tilting his head as he took in all the new information.

Some of the old stuff from before was still there, but as the case evolved, so did the board. 'Mitchell' was written at the top right corner, and beneath it were a few pictures and some scrawled bullet points. Sam took one of the pictures down and examined it carefully.

Mitchell had been a relatively trim man in his 50s, with thinning blond hair and broad shoulders. He'd played football when he himself had gone to Southview, and while he'd never gone on to bigger leagues (a knee injury had taken him down for the count), he'd made it his mission to send others to follow the path he had wanted for himself. Everyone knew that athletes got preferential treatment, to the point where the people that really needed his help fell through the cracks. Combined with his strict and domineering hold over the school, and it was no surprise he'd fallen victim to Death.

He was positioned similarly to Wilkes, with outstretched arms like a crucifixion. He had been tied to one of the football training dummies, and his tilted head was pointed towards a trophy he held in his right hand. He was shirtless, exposing the deeply carved Enochian on his chest. More Enochian was lettered on the trophy cases behind him, dripping down the glass and to the floor.

_Death was really mad at him, _Sam thought uneasily as he took in Mitchell's bruised and nearly unrecognizable face, _Madder than he was at any of the rest._

"Any idea how long he'd been on ice?" he asked, putting the photo back where it belonged. Beyond the distracting pulp that was left of Mitchell's face, it was clear to see the blue-gray tinge that indicated he'd been frozen.

"No idea, but the LPD has confirmed he was alive on Monday," Gabe responded, "Didn't show up Tuesday, but didn't call in sick either."

"He was dead by then," Sam stated, chewing his lip in thought, "Death wasn't very happy with him. Sure, it would've taken a bit more effort to take him down since he was such a big guy, but this…this is overkill."

"Maybe he's losing control," Gabe mused, golden eyes skimming the board, "Or maybe this was more personal."

"They're all personal to him though," Sam pointed out, and Gabe tilted his head.

"But in varying degrees," he said, picking up a marker and circling Reynold and Cork's names.

"These guys weren't that important to him," he said, "Yes, they definitely did something to him; Cork may have even tried to blackmail our killer since he was tagged with that label. However, I think it was more what they did to _other_ people that got them killed."

"Same with Wilkes," Gabe continued, hunting for her name for a moment before finding and circling it, "In his message, he focused more on how her actions affected other people. Mitchell, on the other hand, must've done something that personally affected him for the killer to beat him up like that. Didn't you say he focused more on the athletes?"

"Yeah," Sam said slowly, beginning to grasp what Gabe was saying, "Mitchell didn't really care about anyone that didn't do some kind of sport…"

He trailed off as a few scrawled words on the board caught his eye.

'_Killer has a vendetta against gangs/Hell.' _

_Gangs. Jo said the gangs were gaining a foothold in Southview, didn't she?_

A few of the puzzle pieces fell into place for Sam. Seeing Jo at Southview, where'd she'd told him of Kevin's attempts to keep friends from falling in with the gangs. Those friends went to Southview, and if Kevin felt the situation was desperate enough that it was up to _him_ to do something, then that meant recruitment was serious at Southview.

_And maybe there were more people like Kevin with good intentions, but one of them went too far and turned into a killer._

"What if the killer knew someone that was falling prey to a gang?" he asked slowly, picking up his own marker to underline the statement. The idea was new, but it felt solid to Sam.

Gabe picked up on his line of thought quickly. His eyes gleamed, and his aura swirled quickly as he took his marker and drew an arrow from 'Mitchell' to the statement Sam had underlined.

"A friend of his," the P.I said, tapping the marker against the board, "Or a family member. Maybe they went to Mitchell, or he went to Mitchell himself on behalf of this person. Mitchell did nothing, and the person got sucked into the gang."

"Hell, it could even be Death himself," Sam said, thinking of the person he'd chased. He had a feeling Death was young enough that it was a possibility, "It'd explain how he knew about Reynold and Cork working together, and about Cork's affiliation with the Dead Eyes or whatever gang he worked for because he was either _in_ the gang or close enough to know."

They both paused before turning to face each other, simultaneously reaching the conclusion that they had stumbled across the first signs of something important.

_Maybe even something that can lead to a break in the case._

"Our guy seems too intelligent to join a gang, even when pressured," Gabe said, but Sam could see the gears in his head turning as he processed Sam's theory, "He's too much of a lone wolf."

"Maybe, but if he was in high school at the time and even younger than he is now?" Sam argued. People changed a lot in high school, and peer pressure was real, especially when gangs were involved.

Gabe said nothing, but the Winchester could tell by his aura that he was giving it serious contemplation. He had the same look on his face that he got when he was thinking at crime scenes.

"Either way, I think we're getting somewhere with this," Sam continued, "His hatred for gangs is an important facet to his mindset like the Enochian is. It's why he started this killing spree to begin with."

"You're right," Gabe conceded, though he did so with a frown, "We should focus on the gang aspect more. Forensics won't lead us to him since he doesn't leave _anything_ useful, and our physical profile of him is vague at best. We should take a look at the graffiti he created."

"That'd require a lot of trekking through gang territory," Sam pointed out, and Gabe smirked deviously. The smug look in his eyes indicated that he knew something that Sam didn't, and the Winchester pinned him with a 'hurry-up-and-spill-the-beans' look.

"Yesterday morning I went to the station and ran into Garth, who was kind enough to give us a list of locations where he could recall seeing graffitied Enochian," he said proudly.

Sam blinked with surprise before smiling as Gabe rifled through the files on the coffee table (which was a mess as always) and procured a piece of paper that he handed over with a flourish. It was at times like this that he was reminded that Gabe really _did_ do this for a living and was damn good at it to boot.

"I'm thinking we regroup and recuperate a little more before heading out in the afternoon and checking out the first location," Gabe suggested, his eyes already sparkling with anticipation, "After all, you need some proper clothes."

Sam snorted (_that_ was an understatement) but couldn't help but feel excited as well. They were _doing_ something; chasing down a potential lead and actually being proactive against all the shit that was happening. And this way, he would also be helping get even in the name of the Roadhouse, since he had no doubt that at least one of those locations would be in the Dead Eyes territory.

The feeling of his old training returning to him didn't catch him off guard as it had first done in the past couple of weeks. He'd need every bit of what John had taught him if they were going to do this, and despite his dislike for it, Sam could acknowledge the usefulness of everything he knew.

'Anthem of the Angels' began to play from Gabe's phone, interrupting the crescendo of their excitement.

"Why's Cas calling?" Sam asked, and Gabe shrugged, just as confused as he was as he answered.

"Cassie, what's up? Make any progress with the Ken doll?" he asked, ignoring Sam's snort.

There was a pause before Gabe rolled his eyes and thrust out his phone.

"It's for you, _again_," he said with a faux pout that Sam shot a bitch face at. He took the phone anyway, as his curiosity was now piqued. He didn't think Dean could somehow get hurt in the short span of time since he'd last seen him, so why could Cas be calling?

"Hello Sam," Cas said, his gravelly voice even rougher than usual.

"Hey, Cas. What's up?" Sam asked, brow creasing with mild concern as he sat on the pullout bed. It sounded as if he'd been awake since the fire.

"I have to be brief, because Dean is not aware I'm calling," Cas said bluntly, "He thinks I shouldn't discuss this with you in some misguided attempt to protect you, but I think you two should know."

Sam stood a little straighter, tensions squaring his shoulders as he gestured for Gabe to come closer. Gabe plopped down hard enough to make the springs creak, which earned him another classic Sam Winchester bitch look that he smiled sheepishly at.

"I'm putting you on speaker Cas."

"Very well," Cas said, "Dean and I left the Roadhouse to go back to my apartment, where we found it broken into. We believe it was the Dead Eyes."

Gabe and Sam looked at each other over the phone. It was odd how quickly they did it, but Sam knew they simultaneously agreed that investigating the graffiti would have to wait. Gabe fell into P.I mode quickly, his tone of voice changing as he began to question Cas.

"Did they take anything? How do you know it was the Dead Eyes?"

"They took a few Enochian texts I had laying out, but nothing pertaining to the case save for one of the photocopies your LPD partners had given me of the Enochian left on the most recent victim," Cas explained. For someone who had just had their apartment ransacked, he sounded pretty calm, "However, none of the texts will be very helpful in translating, as they all focus on rituals that use Enochian rather than the language itself."

Sam blew out a short, relieved sigh at that. Nothing good could come from the Dead Eyes learning Enochian; not if they were being this relentless about it.

"Are you sure?" Gabe asked, all business now.

"Fairly. Dean and I left shortly after that, and we're now at his place. He's not sure if the Dead Eyes know he's been the one protecting me, but there's nowhere else for me, or him, to go for the moment."

"Us coming over will piss Dean off," Sam said, thinking of how mad Dean had been at the Roadhouse. Not as mad as he could've been, but it was clear he neither liked Gabe nor how involved Sam had become in everything. It came as no surprise to him that Dean had wanted to keep this from him.

"He will have to live with it."

Cas sounded very self-assured; a quality that not many people had when it came to his brother. Dean threw people for a loop, leaving the palpable absence of his presence wherever he went. People couldn't help but notice him, and most were cowed by him. Good looks, radiant charms, and an intense personality? It was no surprise that many didn't stand a chance.

Sam found that standing against his brother was something that took fortitude. Going against all that stubbornness and soldier-like attitude took guts, and while he wasn't surprised that Cas possessed such willpower (not much seemed to faze Cas in general), it didn't mean that he would automatically win against Dean. Lisa was a prime example of that.

_But it will certainly be interesting to see how it plays out._

"All right. We'll be there," Sam said after glancing at Gabe, who simply smirked and nodded. It was clear he wanted a round two with Dean by the arching swoops of orange in his aura.

It was a disaster in the making but talking with Dean had to be done. Like it or not, he and Dean had gotten themselves entangled in this convoluted case, and Sam knew that they were both too stubborn to try and walk away now. Dean because he surely felt a sense of duty in protecting Cas, and Sam because…

_A multitude of reasons, _he thought as he ended the call and Gabe hurried to get ready after realizing he was still in his PJs, _But maybe none as bigger as this._

Sam swept his hand through the watercolor sweeps of gold in the air, and upon feeling a faint warmth, smiled.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE

I can't wait for the reviews on this story. It's gonna be a wild ride my friends.

Hello! I am back, and I posted in March like I promised! I'm aiming for biweekly updates rn, but we'll see how that goes(you all know how inconsistent I can be with updating lmaoooo). Writing this chapter was weird since I'd taken such a long break from the little universe I made, but once I got back into the flow it was actually really nice.

The rating on this story is different from Chromaticity, as it is now **Mature. **This **will** be different from Chromaticity in regards to violence and how much of it I portray, though I don't think it'll be much worse than Chromaticity was? I've also marked it so for any romantic instances that'll occur later. Just playing it safe here, and take this into consideration if this could be an issue for you!

That's all I think, as I'm just trying to get back into the game rn. As always, reviews are welcomed!


	2. Tests of Trust

**Chapter 2- Tests of Trust**

Dean's apartment was not so much a home, but a base from which he operated. Situated in the southeast section of Lawrence, he could easily reach Bobby's, the Roadhouse (when it had existed), Sam's place, _and_ Lisa within 15 minutes. This was something Sam knew his brother was very proud of, even if it was annoying that even in adulthood, he couldn't _quite_ shake Dean off his tail.

Now though, Sam was glad for the closeness. After a quick pitstop to get changed properly (no way was he showing up in Gabe's shirt, however nice it smelled), it didn't take very long at all to get to the relatively new apartment building Dean resided in. His sloppily parked Impala, however beautiful it was, looked like an aged relic in front of the building. Even Gabe seemed a bit caught off guard by how perfectly _normal_ the building looked.

"This is…actually a decent place," he remarked, and Sam chuckled at his clear confusion.

"He only lives here because of Ben," he explained as he unbuckled his seatbelt, "So he can have fun in the pool and stuff, you know?"

Gabe only hummed noncommittally, but Sam could see his aura churning in thought as he clearly reevaluated what he thought of Dean.

_That's good, _he thought as they walked inside and took the elevator up to the second floor, _Maybe this will help reduce the risk of another macho man fight breaking out as soon as we step inside._

The apartment building was shaped like a U, with the aforementioned pool resting inside the U. Dean's apartment was at the top of the U and looked out on the pool, which Ben absolutely loved. What Ben didn't know was that his father had specifically chosen that apartment because an alley ran parallel to the pool beyond the fencing, and it was easy to pull up in it and climb the balcony to his own apartment after one of his fight nights. In a shadier section of town, it wouldn't have been a problem to just walk in through the lobby, but here, questions were bound to be asked if Dean showed up bloody.

Sam didn't bother with the buzzer, instead choosing to resort to their special knock. Dean was cagey when answering the door for people he didn't know were coming, and he didn't want to waste any time.

A very disgruntled Dean yanked open the door, his apple green aura tinted to reflect his sullen attitude as he scowled.

"Cas just told me you guys were showing up," he said, eyes sliding past Sam to fix a brief glare at Gabe, "You might as well come in."

"Is that any way to greet your brother?" Sam joked lightly as they stepped in. The entrance foyer was small, with only a mirrored coat closet to the right and a wobbly wooden table for knick-knacks on the left. Of course, Dean's idea of knick-knacks were brass knuckles and a box of band-aids, but that was neither here nor there.

"Sam's right. You should have greeted him more politely," Cas said from the living room, which was straight ahead and outfitted in typical Dean fashion. One couch, one armchair angled to face it, one rigid wooden chair, a TV, and a coffee table. All the furniture was unassuming, and if it weren't for the clear signs of Ben through the crayon pictures pinned practically everywhere and his scattered things, it would've looked as if it had been ripped from a catalog. Sam knew that the hall across the room led to a bathroom, Dean's room, and Ben's guest room when he stayed over and that with the exception of Ben's room, it was similar to the living room in its spartan fashion.

"You don't get an opinion now since you sold me out," Dean said, green aura flickering as he strode into the living room and sat in the wooden chair. He crossed his arms, planted his feet, and glared at Cas, who sat on the couch surrounded by books and paper, "I _told_ you I didn't want to tell Sammy."

Sam winced slightly. When Dean looked like that, a storm was on the horizon. Him sitting in the wooden chair was even worse; a wooden chair was only used if he was on watch, or if he was feeling tense. It harked back to the very, very old days of their nomadic hotel lifestyle, where Dean had grown accustomed to sitting in whatever uncomfortable chair the hotel provided by the window to wait for John to come back.

Cas only gazed back calmly, unruffled by Dean's feeling of betrayal, which was written all over his face and in the cool yellow that flitted across his aura in spasms. It was an impressive look considering he was only wearing a red dress robe over matching pajamas.

"And I told you that them _not_ knowing was foolish," he said, his blue aura just as smooth and undisturbed as his voice, "I called them because Sam has been in the midst of all this longer than we have and because Gabe doesn't work for the LPD, but is dedicated to solving the case."

He shut his book with a crisp snap, and Sam couldn't help but feel impressed by the way he'd handled Dean. It was similar to the way Lisa would chastise his brother, except Lisa had never managed to sound so…_calm_ while she did so.

"It doesn't matter," Dean snapped back, though his irritation was waning in the unshakeable logic Cas spoke, "Sam has his own life to live and shouldn't have to get caught up in any more of this shit. And I don't trust anyone that's worked with the LPD, point blank. You _know_ why I don't."

_Cas knows about Mom?_

Judging by the meaningful gaze Dean fixed him, Cas _did_ know.

Sam had to admit, he was shocked by that. His reluctance to discuss Yellow Eyes and their mother was _nothing_ compared to Dean's. Lisa had only gotten the full story, or what constituted as the full story to Dean, shortly after Ben was born, and Dean _hated_ talking about it. For him to have not only told Cas but to also _reference_ it, however vague he thought he was being, in conversation?

_What have these two been _up_ to in the last few weeks?_

He couldn't be sure, but Sam thought that it had probably been as wild and mind-boggling as his adventures with Gabe.

"You don't get to choose what I do with my time Dean," Sam said, crossing his arms, "And Gabe _isn't_ an LPD lackey. He's a P.I that has his own mind and is pretty good at putting it to use to solve crime. Neither of us is backing down from this."

Gabe stepped up to stand by his side as he spoke, radiating casual confidence and steadfastness that Sam knew had come from their own shared time together. With his hands in his jacket pockets and an easy smirk on his face, it was clear he wasn't going to cave to Dean.

Dean seemed to realize this, his green eyes flicking between the two of them in a suspicious, calculating motion.

Sam fixed his own steady gaze on his brother before his eyes slid pointedly to Cas, who was watching all three of them with his own unreadable gaze.

_You can suspect all you want about us, but I'm doing the same right back with you and Cas._

The silent message was received loud and clear. Dean sat back in his chair a bit and kept his mouth shut, and Sam breathed a silent sigh of relief as they avoided _that_ particular disaster. He still had to work out what exactly was going on between him and Gabe, and he didn't want Dean to meddle by making some asinine comments.

_He has just as much, if not more, to work out with Cas anyway, _he thought as Cas' aura reached out slightly towards Dean's, the blue mingling with the green at the very edges in what looked like a brush of comfort, _He doesn't even seem to realize how close they've gotten._

"It's dangerous," Dean said, fingers gripping the arms of the chair, "You said you wanted to stay out of crap like this for the longest, but now you want to get your hands dirty? Sammy, don't you want to go back to college, and being a student? To _normal_?"

Sam thought Dean would bring this up. He could see Cas and Gabe's auras shift towards confusion but ignored them as he looked Dean in the eye.

"I can't. I'm in too deep," he replied softly, taking a few steps towards Dean so he could lower his voice further. He wasn't sure how his brother would react to what he was about to bring up, "Dean, this isn't _just_ about the Dead Eyes or even the serial killer. It's also about Mom."

Dean's eyes lit up, and he sat up immediately, leaning forward as his green aura lashed about him with the conflicting emotions that always came when he thought of Mom.

"What is it, Sammy?"

Sam bit his lip, "Did…did you know the Feds were close to coming in on the case?"

Dean blinked before shaking his head, "No, just what Dad told us, and he never mentioned anything like that. Why didn't they take over the case?"

"They didn't come in on the case because they didn't think your mother was one of his victims to begin with."

Both Sam and Dean whipped their heads back to Gabe, who was standing in the middle of the living room and snuck up on them. His face had fallen into P.I mode, but there were traces of softness in eyes and a bit of guilt in his aura.

"I was going to tell you yesterday Sam, but then the fire happened," he explained, sighing as he raked a hand through his hair, "Jody and Donna figured out who you were, and pulled Mary's case file. They found out from the notes inside that your mother wasn't classified as one of Yellow Eyes victims until 24 hours _after_ she'd been killed for fear of public backlash."

"But then Yellow Eyes never struck again, so it turned into a cold case that remained within the LPD's jurisdiction," Gabe finished, inclining his head slightly, "I doubt anyone besides those originally involved and us know of this."

_Never trust the LPD to do anything right. _

Dean was the first to react. His aura practically exploded outward, washing Sam in shades of vivid green as he stood to pace back and forth in front of the French doors that led out to the balcony.

"I _knew_ it. _Dad_ knew it," he said fiercely, going back and forth as his aura lashed out in anger and victory and the desire to know more, "We never had confirmation, and Dad just had his suspicions, but we _knew_ something was wrong…"

He continued to go back and forth as he dissolved into incomprehensible mutters. Cas stood, probably to help him calm down, leaving Sam to reel in the middle of the living room.

_John was…right?_

Sam always thought John had just been obsessive over it. Losing your wife to a serial killer and then never finding her body would do that to someone, and Sam never blamed the man for his grief. He had just thought his paranoia and hatred for the LPD was just a manifestation of his grief, and that it was all overblown hysteria. Sure, the LPD had been incompetent for never catching Yellow Eyes, and Sam had always suspected that maybe something _had_ been awry with the whole case, but to have _confirmation_ that John's old mutterings about conspiracy and corruption weren't baseless was something entirely different.

A tentative hand clasped his shoulder, and Sam looked down to see Gabe looking at him apologetically.

"Sorry for springing it on you like that, Sammo," he said, and the Winchester shook his head.

"There's nothing to be sorry for. I'm just glad to know," he responded, steering them back towards the kitchen, which was separated from the living room by nothing but an archway and the shift from carpet to tile. Dean and Cas' auras were growing larger and larger as their hushed conversation grew, threatening to give him a headache from the sheer _power_ behind the colors.

_Having all three of them in a confined space probably isn't the best idea, _Sam thought as they both leaned against the kitchen counter, facing out into the living room. He hadn't noticed it last night because they'd been outside in the open when they'd all spoken (not to mention how tired and distracted he'd been), but all three of them had their own strong, potent auras that reacted just as strongly with each other.

Gabe was like the sun beside him, dominating the kitchen with his golden glow. His expression was easy enough, but he wasn't done asking questions yet.

"He reacted pretty explosively compared to you," he stated, not looking at him.

Sam shrugged, watching Dean and Cas' auras interact as he tried to find the right words to say.

"Dean knew her better," he started, watching as blue and green struggled back and forth. Cas was like the ocean, steady and constant and insistent with every crashing wave of blue, gradually beating down the frantic, explosive supernova that Dean possessed. It was interesting to see Dean's aura tamed in such a way, "He was young when she died, but he just…_knew_ her better. He can remember enough of the old days when John was happy with her and happy with us, and everyone was _happy_, that the injustice of her death hit a lot harder."

"And you were just a baby. You couldn't possibly remember her."

Sam nodded, "I don't have that connection. All I've heard are stories of her, and I've seen pictures and her gravestone, but it isn't the same. Sometimes I think I remember what it was like to be hidden in that tree hollow, and feel the cold and smell dirt, but I know it's just my mind creating a ghost memory of what I _know_ happened."

He was telling Gabe a lot more than he originally wanted to, but Sam found it wasn't as awkward or embarrassing as he thought it'd be. Gabe's aura was still the same by his side, and it didn't feel like he was pushing him to say anything. It was just the two of them in the kitchen, waiting for the storm that Dean Winchester was to blow over.

"It's hard to miss someone you never knew," Sam summed up, feeling a small amount for pity at that moment for John and Dean. Over the years, he'd tried to explain why he didn't feel the same way as they did when it came to Mom, but he'd never been able to put it into words right, and they had never understood.

They stood in silence for a moment, and Dean calmed down a bit more as Cas clasped his shoulder and turned him around roughly to pin him with a stern gaze. Sam could make out some of their words now but tuned them out as Gabe shifted by his side.

"I never knew my parents," he said quietly, eyes still fixed ahead at some far-off point Sam couldn't see, "So I never really missed them. Just the _idea_ of parents, ya know?"

Sam knew. It was the feeling he'd had when he watched the other kids make Mother's Day cards and chatter about the moms that packed their lunches and kissed their boo-boos. It was the feeling he'd had when the soccer moms came to pick up their angsty middle schoolers; the kids that took their moms for granted. In those moments, he hadn't so much missed Mary Winchester but missed the _idea_ of her.

"Yeah, I know."

They looked at each other then, and for the second time that day, Sam felt that they came to another agreement, or formed some sort of connection. This was something not related to the case that they shared, and neither of them was shying away from it.

Which was why Sam felt it was safe to ask something that had come to mind and stayed in his head ever since he'd learned Gabe had been a foster kid. It wasn't something that gnawed at him incessantly (he'd been too busy for such a thing), but he _was_ curious, and in this strange moment they shared, it slipped out.

"Do you know anything about your parents?"

Gabe's aura rolled in on itself, the only unusual sign to mark the taboo nature of the subject they were broaching. His moment of turmoil passed though, and he smiled a half smile as his aura settled back down into a pale, reminiscing shade of gold.

"No. I was left on the doorstep of a church when I was a month old, which was all I managed to get from my case worker before I turned 18."

"And after?" Sam asked, caught up in Gabe's expression. It was obvious this had been something he had been bitter and pained over at one point, but not anymore. There was an odd sort of acceptance to it all now, as if he had willed himself into ignoring all the heartache.

"I looked at my file, and it didn't fill in many more blanks," he said, scoffing a bit, "I had been left in a baby carrier, with a short note that stated that my name was Gabriel, my birthday, and that I had been left because the angels said so."

Sam blinked, both at the strange reasoning and the faint bitterness that had crept in towards the end.

"They just…left you there? Because the _angels_ said so?" he asked, suddenly feeling a small flicker of anger at the injustice of it. Who could just-_dump_ Gabe like that at a church?

An image of a small baby crying on the steps of a dark, empty church filled his head, and Sam shoved it away ruthlessly. He didn't want to think of Gabe as some helpless infant, not when he was far from helpless now.

He knew it'd haunt him though, much like the memory he'd formulated of that tree hollow he'd been stuffed in as a baby sometimes did. There was just something _wrong_ about babies left on their own in places they shouldn't be.

"Along with some other religious nonsense," Gabe said with a wave of his hand, "It was probably better I hadn't been with my parents anyway, because whoever had written that note sounded crazy."

Judging from his aura, he didn't _quite_ believe his words, but Sam didn't call him on it. Maybe later, when they were alone.

A sudden pressure eased in the air, and Sam turned his attention back to Dean and Cas. Dean's aura was back to normal as he sat down in the couch, jostling some of Cas' things. Cas said something grumpily as he moved things around to sit beside Dean, who only rolled his eyes and smirked back.

"It looks like they got things settled," Gabe said with a telling arch of his eyebrow.

"Leave them be," Sam warned tiredly as he saw that devious smirk appear to melt away the past that lingered on Gabe's face.

His eyes sparkled with mischief though as he bounded out of the kitchen, and Sam sighed before following him out.

_At least I tried._

"So now that you two have had your little _discussion_, let's have ours!" Gabriel said as he plopped down into the armchair, crossed his legs, and smiled brightly.

Sam was left to sit in the wooden chair, which he pulled up to be closer to Gabe and flipped around so he could straddle it. It felt very much as if he was some sort of royal advisor being allowed permission to sit by the throne, and the impression was made even worse as Gabe's aura shifted to reflect just how much of a-well, _asshole_-he was about to become.

_He's not so much of an asshole once you get to know him, but this is _definitely_ going to get on Dean's nerves, _he thought warily as his brother sat up just a bit straighter on the couch, _Two assholes don't equal a saint._

It was clear that Gabe wanted to put their moment, and all thoughts of his past, behind him, and was willing to overcompensate outwardly to do so. Sam wasn't sure how, and even _if_, he should curb what was probably going to be a very bold, brash method of conversation, so he decided to let things play out for now. He had played mediator yesterday and wasn't willing to continually fall into the role that he thought would be a constant if Dean and Gabe kept up their hostility to each other.

_If I'm lucky, the information Gabe gave us about Mom will keep Dean on track, and my disapproving presence will keep Gabe from being too mouthy._

"You've been working the serial killer case the whole time?" Dean asked, trying to sound civil. He was a bit gruff, and his eyes had that hard spark he got when he was dealing with an unknown element he was still trying to work out, but it was a good start.

"Up until I got kicked off the case last week," Gabe replied bluntly, still smiling merrily, "I am just a P.I and consultant, and detectives get free reign over who they allow onto their special little task forces."

"They have a task force?"

Gabe nodded, rapping his fingers on the armchair, "They're not exactly a very good one, but task forces look great on paper. Makes the LPD feel like they're doing something _special_ and _productive_."

A mocking smirk graced the P.I's face as he said this, and if it weren't for the fact that he was disparaging of the LPD, Sam knew his brother would've been itching to punch the damned thing right off his face.

That didn't stop Dean's aura from swirling just a bit faster, or his nostrils to flare. Sam just mentally crossed his fingers and nudged Gabe's foot with his own in an attempt to warn him that he was toeing a _very_ dangerous line.

"I've been on my fair share of task forces, so I can say with a good amount of certainty that this one is going to face a lot of pressure from all sides to look like they're making progress," Gabe continued, but with no smirk this time, "If they had me, they could be making some _actual_ progress, but unfortunately, I did not make Bela's cut."

Dean's eyes narrowed slightly, and he tilted his head as his aura swirled with interest.

"Any chance you're referring to Bela Talbot?"

Gabe seemed momentarily thrown by Dean's question, and Cas cocked his head to show his own confusion. Sam sat up with interest though, a small suspicion beginning to form as he took in his brother's unusually composed face.

_How does he know Bela Talbot?_

"How do you know Talbot?" Gabe asked, unknowingly repeating Sam's internal question, and Dean's composure cracked a bit as he scratched his neck.

"Well…lots of people know about her," he said, eyes flicking around before landing on Sam, "But my buddies know her pretty well."

_Mayhem Arena._

It seemed like a lifetime ago that Dean had abruptly dropped off Ben to go fight a guy that wanted a rematch from Mayhem Arena. Mayhem Arena was just one of the underground fighting circles in Lawrence, but it was easily the biggest and most well-known. It wasn't just some basketball court fight with money exchanged haphazardly or an after-hours fight spot in a boxing club. Mayhem Arena was a complex network of money and fighters that the LPD had never been able to crack and had been that way for years.

_But they have attempted before, and Talbot is supposed to be one of their best detectives._

"Does she try to bust guy's night?" Sam asked casually, and Dean nodded.

"What's going on? There's some sort of code being exchanged here," Gabe demanded, gesturing back and forth between the two brothers, and Cas sighed.

"I suspect this is a 'Winchester thing'," he said with air quotes, a strangely loveable action that successfully defused the rising tension, "It's best to just let it go."

Gabe crossed his arms and pouted dramatically, but surprisingly did as Cas asked.

"_Anyway_," Dean said after shooting Cas a half exasperated, half amused looked, "I still don't know what to make of you. Talbot kicked you off the case, which means you were free of the responsibility. That should've been the end of it for you, but it wasn't. Why are you still pursuing it? Do you want a slice of the action?"

Sam knew Gabe's reason, or at least his main ones. He wasn't sure if he would tell Dean, and he wouldn't be overly upset if he did (maybe embarrassed; Gabe _had_ basically stayed on the case because he'd convinced him to), but he watched Gabe carefully regardless.

"Because it's my job," the P.I said simply, eyes bright, "I've never left a case unsolved if I could help it, and I _can_ do something about this one. The LPD is in the midst of fucking this up, and I don't know about you, but I don't want this one to end up like Yellow Eyes."

He hadn't said it, but 'Mary Winchester' could be read between the lines.

_Well done, Gabe, _Sam thought as Dean leaned back and visibly processed what he'd heard. Gabe had unknowingly (or perhaps knowingly; the man _was_ good at reading people) appealed to Dean's sense of duty and had also linked things back to the past that still haunted them. Combined with the admittance on his part that the LPD was screwing things up, Sam was sure that Gabe had knocked the brunt of Dean's arguments against them out for the count.

_And isn't that ironic when Dean's the fighter? _

"I need a beer," Dean said suddenly, standing up and stretching, "You want one Sammy?"

Dean rarely asked if he wanted a beer; Sam was no fan of it, and he knew that. Him asking made him frown, because his brother wouldn't ask unless he had a reason.

He shook his head, and Dean glanced at Cas. It seemed it was only out of habit though because Cas sniffed distastefully and shook his head as well.

"You know I don't like those beverages."

"And _you_ know I think you should loosen up a bit, Novak," he said, but in a teasing tone of voice Sam had only ever heard him use with a few people.

The faint suspicion that had formed when Dean had first asked about beer only solidified when he didn't ask Gabe if he wanted one. It was in his aura too, a core of determination more solid than the free-flowing shades of green.

He walked towards the kitchen, casual as can be, and as soon as he had, Sam turned to face Gabe.

"Drink the beer he brings you," he said, lowering his voice so Dean wouldn't hear them. His brother's hearing was too good, and the kitchen was too close.

"But he didn't ask me if _I_ wanted one," Gabe pointed out, and Sam shook his head.

"It's a test. Drink the beer he brings you, or else this whole thing goes up in flames!"

"You're not making any sense!" the P.I exclaimed, and Sam gestured for him to lower his voice frantically as the fridge door opened.

"It's a Dean Winchester thing," he hissed hurriedly, "Just go with it!"

"You're being paranoid!"

"_You're_ being difficult!"

Cas' aura grew bright cobalt on the couch with amusement as they leaned closer and closer.

"Just drink it," he hissed, and Gabe scowled. The expression pulled down his features and made Sam want to smooth his brow with his thumb as he'd taken to doing lately.

"No I _won't_; he's just going to come out with one beer-"

The fridge door shut, and they pulled away in silent, but mutual accord as if they hadn't _just_ been nose to nose a minute ago arguing. Sure enough, Dean was carrying two beer bottles and accompanying coasters, and Sam made sure to shoot Gabe a triumphant look mixed with a warning one to make sure he drank the beer.

"Nice day outside. Ben will probably want to go into the pool soon," Dean remarked, cracking open his own beer bottle with a practiced flick of his wrist. It was as if they hadn't discussed anything serious at all, and to an outsider, the sudden change in subject would've been odd, but convincing.

It just made Sam sweat, and wish for Gabe to hurry up and_ drink the goddamn beer_.

Dean's aura churned on as if everything was normal. Cas' was confused but flickered blue lightning as he began to catch on that the strangeness of it all wasn't on accident. Gabe's aura caught on to the fact that something was off because there were _two_ beers, and then wariness, and then calculation.

Sam hoped Gabe put the intelligence he knew he had to use and drank the beer.

A moment passed because Gabe was naturally wary and more thoughtful then he let off, but he drank the beer.

It was like someone flicked a switch. Sam allowed himself one brief moment of relief (miracles _do_ happen for Winchesters) before answering Dean casually.

"You know Lisa won't let Ben dip a toe in the water until May."

"Ben will be fine," Dean said flippantly before he seemed to think for a few seconds, "But you're right. The chlorine smell always lingers, and she'll get a whiff of it."

Sam shook his head (coming to the right decision for the wrong reasons was common with Dean), and Cas suddenly piped up.

"Dean, I think I heard Bee. Perhaps-"

"That damned cat!" Dean exclaimed before Cas could finish, shooting to his feet and setting his beer down hard enough to make the table vibrate. "I swear if I see _one_ claw mark on anything…"

He disappeared down the hall, leaving the three of them in the living room.

"What did the beer signify?" Cas asked, beating Gabe to the chase. His eyes sparkled with amusement at Dean's clear distaste for his cat, which Sam was surprised had even been let _into_ the apartment to begin with.

"It's one of Dean's…_tests_, of sorts," Sam explained, "You know how distrustful he is. It's not always beer, but he'll bring something out when he wants to determine some level of trust. If the guest drinks it, then he knows that they trust _him_ enough to drink his drinks, and he can, in turn, trust them."

"What kind of twisted logic is that?" Gabe asked incredulously, and Sam shrugged.

"When it comes to trust, Dean never takes the first step. You have to _prove_ to him that you trust him, and in his head, that shows that he can trust you more than he initially would've."

It was one of Dean's many small quirks that he'd developed over the years. Sam was familiar with many of them, as he'd been right by his side when he saw Dean go from a freckly, grinning kid to a man that made a living off of the violent tendencies of human nature. He always carried a knife on him, made sure to sit where he could see the entrance in a public place whenever he could, and immediately went to evasive maneuvers if he even _suspected_ he was being followed in the Impala. He was also a loving father and fiercely protective of his family, but that was all woven in with what he had been taught.

Dean wore their training proudly like a second skin and had made it his own, however messed up it would appear to others. Sam was like a snake that had shed its skin to gain a fresh start, only to find that the patterns that adorned him remained the same.

"Your stupid cat is asleep," Dean grumbled as he came back, "I think your hearing is starting to go, Cas."

"Perhaps," Cas responded amicably, remaining unfazed as Dean continued to grumble about spoiled felines and aging bookworms. Only a faint shadow of a smile could have possibly exposed his ruse to get his brother to leave.

"Cas, did you translate the message left with Mitchell?" Gabe asked suddenly, "You mentioned on the phone that they had managed to get a photocopy of it."

"I did," the Enochian expert confirmed, "It's shorter than the rest, but it's very telling…"

He trailed off as he began to rifle through the papers that surrounded him, batting away Dean's clumsy attempts to help (much to Sam's amusement), before procuring a piece of paper.

"Ah ha! I knew I had it," he said before handing it over, "This is the only copy of the translation, so there's no way the Dead Eyes have it."

"'_He did nothing to save innocent souls from Hell and turned a blind eye to their suffering,'_" Gabe read out loud, "Sam, this sounds like it could fit-"

"Our theory," he finished, scooting the chair even closer to Gabe, "Let me see."

"What theory?" Dean asked as Sam studied the runes Cas had copied at the top, and the translation at the bottom.

Gabe began to explain their theory of why Mitchell had been killed. Sam handed Cas back the paper once the P.I had finished, who handed it to Dean when he gestured that he wanted to see it.

"So, you try to decipher this guy's psychobabbling?" he asked, shaking his head in distaste at the paper. Sam figured he would; while Dean was much more apt at reading criminals and degenerates than he let on, he preferred fighting and bringing them down more than psychoanalyzing them.

_That had been left more up to be in the old days._

"Among other things. We've deduced that Hell represents gangs, or maybe a specific gang, and that he's pretty confident he won't be caught before he finishes his 'mission', but that's about it,'" Gabe responded.

Dean looked at Sam, "And you're just going along with all of this."

Sam looked back just as steadily, tossing his head a bit as he answered.

"You can't stop me."

A flare of protective green from Dean's aura was the only sign he showed that he disagreed with him. Outwardly, he grumbled and griped under his breath, seizing his beer to hide a glare behind the bottle.

Sam smiled slightly. Dean wasn't accepting of it (he'd have been surprised if he had been; Dean was overprotective to a fault), but he _had_ accepted that Sam wasn't going to defer to him in this. They would probably clash again over this later, and maybe a few more times after that, but it'd just be brotherly bickering. In the end, they both knew that he was sticking around.

Sometimes, he thought it was good that he'd let his brother be the boss when they were kids. It made moments like this when he managed to one-up him all the sweeter.

"I hate it when you get like that," Dean muttered at last, sounding almost mournful as he twirled his now empty bottle around his fingers in a trick Sam knew he'd spent ages perfecting, "It's like talking to a wall."

"No one's stopping you from talking to one," Sam quipped happily, letting his triumph shine through his now wide grin, and his brother snorted.

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

They both grinned, leaving their respective partners disconcerted.

"Is that another Winchester thing?" Gabe stage whispered to Cas, who shook his head wearily and stood with a heavy tome in his hand. Sam was surprised the entire thing hadn't fallen apart at the seams; it was that ancient.

"I've just accepted that Winchesters have their own social nuances separate from the rest of the world. Dean, I'm partaking in your coffee," he announced, shuffling towards the kitchen.

"Not when you don't know where my coffee grounds are," Dean said cheekily from his very settled position on the couch.

Cas paused halfway in his trek to the kitchen and fixed a deadpan glare on him that could've rivaled any of Sam's various bitch faces. His aura was charged electric blue with discontent, a sharp contrast to the utter blankness on his expression.

"I'm making coffee one way or another. It would be best if you were more assistive, or do I need to remind you what happened when I didn't have my usual cup of coffee?"

Sam wasn't sure what Cas was referring to, but whatever it was couldn't have been good if it made Dean go pale that fast.

Gabe snickered as his brother practically shot up from the couch and went to help a now satisfied Cas fix up a pot of coffee.

"He's completely whipped, and he doesn't even know it!"

"I haven't seen Dean move that was since he got the call Lisa was in labor," Sam said thoughtfully, "You should've seen him. He practically dragged me out from my classes so I could be his 'moral support' at the hospital."

"And how'd that go?" Gabe asked, eyes bright with amusement.

"Poorly," Sam said dryly, "Dean was practically out of his mind with worry and panic, so they ended up kicking him out for most of it while _I_ stayed with Lisa."

Gabe laughed, turning in his armchair to face Sam better. He was obviously enthralled, propping his chin in his hand as his gold aura swirled responsively around him.

"You didn't have to cut the cord, did you?"

"Oh _no_," Sam said with a slight shake of his head, "Dean managed to get himself together for that."

Gabe nodded before suddenly sobering up with a tilt of his head.

"You were even younger when Ben was born," he said, obviously doing the mental math, "15?"

"Yeah. Ben's birth was a highlight of my sophomore year," Sam said proudly.

And it had been. Of course, he'd run through many of the same emotions that his brother had at the beginning: worry, panic, fear, and doubt. They had been trained to handle the scum of society, not infants and the people they grew up to be. Sam had thought he would make a horrible uncle, and that if Lisa wanted the best for who at the point had just been a nameless fetus, then she would keep the child far, far away from him.

Lisa hadn't cared about any of the concerns he'd managed to stumble through when she'd confronted him about how he felt about the whole situation. He'd thought she'd just seen him as Dean's geeky little brother, but she had had trust and faith in him, and it had been enough or raise Sam's low opinion of himself. By the time Ben had been born and he'd laid sight on his scrunched-up face, he knew that he loved his nephew, even if he wasn't sure how to be the best uncle he could be for him.

"It must've been hard," Gabe remarked, and Sam shrugged a shoulder.

"It was hard, adjusting," he answered, thinking back to all books he'd devoured on child rearing once he'd accepted that he had the potential to be a good uncle. Of course, books only helped so much, "Dean more so, because he was…well, he wasn't sure if he could be a good father, and I was still in high school trying to balance a lot of other stuff on top of being an uncle. I don't even _know_ how Lisa did it."

"Ben's got a good support system. I think you did good, Sam-a-lam."

"You think so?" Sam asked, not so much disbelieving, but curious if Gabe really meant what he said. He did think Ben was lucky to have such devoted parents and him as an uncle (and as a third parent at this point really), but his parental figures weren't exactly _normal_.

At least, he and Dean. Sam still secretly thought Lisa was the best maternal figure he could think of.

Gabe's aura held no hint of a lie, partial or full, as he nodded.

"Of course, kiddo! Honestly, I don't see how you could be a bad uncle at all," he said with a scoff, "I don't know if anyone's ever told you, but you tend to go above and beyond with whatever you set your mind to."

Sam flushed. He had indeed been told that on multiple occasion. A few people had said it was stubbornness, but Sam just thought it was his own need to prove himself capable of completing any task before him, and just naturally wanting to do his best while he was at it. He wasn't as pigheaded as Dean (perish the thought!), but he had just as much willpower.

A knowing smirk graced Gabe's face, and Sam pointedly ignored him as Dean and Cas emerged from the kitchen. Cas was carrying a steaming mug and had a much more content aura flowing around him. Dean looked less fearful but still gave the Enochian expert a few sidelong glances as they rearranged themselves on the couch. It was the same expression one used when looking at a collared, but dangerous animal, and Sam snorted quietly at the imagery.

_Dean may have a stormy personality, but it's good to know Cas can be fearsome in his own right._

"Help yourself, Sammy," his brother said, gesturing with a lazy hand to the kitchen, "Cas made me buy decent grounds instead of the instant coffee _you_ call trash."

"Because it is," Sam retorted back before shaking his head with a sigh, "But we should really get going. I've got a bunch of schoolwork to catch up on, and Gabe has other cases to look at too."

"But those are _boring_," Gabe whined, earning a sharp look from Sam.

"And they're the ones that'll keep you financially afloat while we work together. Need I remind you you're _not_ getting paid to chase the Crucifier?"

Sam almost said Death but substituted it at the last second. He had a feeling he was the only one that really referred to the killer like that.

_Maybe it's because of the sleepwalking and future-seeing I've been doing, but Death suits the maniac a hell of a lot better than The Crucifier._

Gabe grumbled and crossed his arms, but his aura reflected that he understood his point.

"Call us if you learn anything," Sam said, setting the chair back in its rightful place near the window, "Especially if it's the Dead Eyes. They're getting bolder by the day now."

"That goes for you too, Sammy," Dean said, standing as well. His eyes were slightly narrowed in the familiar, all-knowing 'I'm-the-big-brother-and-know-you-well' look, "Don't try to take on too much shit at once, and don't think you can't tell me anything. We're in the same boat right now."

With a pang, Sam remembered his sleepwalking, not to mention Ben's, _and_ the memory of the cabin. He'd meant to tell Dean but now wasn't the right time. Not in front of Cas and Gabe, and not so soon after the way Cas' apartment had been ransacked. It would be an explosive conversation, _especially_ since it involved Ben.

_We may be sailing closer now, but we're still in different boats, _he thought they said their goodbyes and left, _I'll have to tell him soon though, or else Lisa will take it upon herself to do so._

"You ok, kiddo?"

Sam looked down at Gabe, who was giving him a look of concern. They had somehow gotten outside, and he realized he must've spaced out enough to cause the P.I to worry.

He took in the golden aura, which was unfurling in happy waves of soft color to greet the early spring sun, and determined his friend (_that_ a thought he'd have to get used to) had come out from meeting Dean just fine. Gabe was the resilient type and had proven it time and time again.

"Yeah, I just want to get back home. It's been a wild weekend," he said with a half-smile that drew a faint snort from the P.I.

"I'm sure you'll have lots of stories to tell when you go back to school tomorrow," he commented as they got into the Beetle.

Sam grimaced. He wasn't looking forward to going back to campus; the apathy he'd acquired towards law school had lingered, but he knew he had to. He wasn't so thrown off his regular routine that he _didn't_ want to be a lawyer. The world would have to stop spinning on its axis and collapse in fiery ruin for _that_ to happen, as Sam had had this ambition since he was young. It was just a crucial part of him as his surname or his ability to see auras.

_I'm just having more fun working with Gabe right now. That's all._

The faint doubt still stuck in his head though as Gabe drew him into a conversation with a joke and drove him home. If even his deep-rooted aspiration to be a lawyer was being shaken by the events unfolding around him, then what else could possibly follow in the future to top the changes he was already going through?

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Lots of new info for you guys to chew on in this one, along with some additions to old stuff. I definitely had fun writing Dean/Cas interacting in this, though it did feel a bit weird since I'm so used to writing Sam/Gabe interacting more. They will show up more in this story, along with a lot of other familiar (and unfamiliar) characters ;)

The next chapter will be more actiony and less dialogue, and there'll be a Gabe POV chapter sometime soon. His POV will appear much more in this story, but Sam's will remain predominant as always. I just like writing aura descriptions. Oops!

Review as always, you amazing people, and I'll hopefully see you in the next couple of weeks!


	3. Demon's Blood

**Chapter 3- Demon's Blood**

Monday dawned bright and early for Sam, who, in an attempt to regain a sense of normalcy, turned to exercise. Up until finals week, which now felt like ages ago, he'd been consistent when it came to his exercise, and his runs in particular. It was one of his few holdovers from training and he'd taken to it with far more gusto than Dean ever had. Dean said it was because of his long legs, but Sam personally felt he just had more patience for it.

Warming up took a little longer, and the first mile felt strange after having gone without running for so long, but soon Sam felt as if he was flying through Lawrence, which was just beginning to stir from its nightly slumber. Auras from the night faded as the daytime ones began to wake, but they all blurred into a river of barely registered color as he ran a familiar route through East Center. Early morning was a time when the auras were at their least muddy due to the lack of citizens, and Sam enjoyed the brief bursts of color that stood out long enough for him to notice.

People's auras were always the brightest, but in a city like Lawrence, places began to take on their own auras from the constant stream of citizens that passed through them. A library would have a different concentration of color compared to a doctor's office, and so on. It wasn't usually evident, but during his runs, Sam was always able to distinguish between the buildings in this particular way. He passed an apartment building, a café, and an electronics store all without looking at their signs; knowing instinctively which atmosphere corresponded to what kind of building. It brought to mind the comfortable steel blues of the Roadhouse, and Sam felt a pang of loss.

He wasn't really sure what he was going to do now that the Roadhouse was gone. From what he recalled of the fire, there probably wasn't much left of it, if there was anything left at all. Sam had no doubt that Ellen would rebuild; she was too tough _not_ to, but that would take months, which was time he didn't have.

Gabe's offer of financial support came back to him, but Sam pushed it away forcefully. It went against everything he was to accept charity like that. What direction would their relationship take if he _did_ take Gabe up on his offer? Money always complicated things (he'd learned that from Jess), and he didn't want it to potentially tarnish what he had with Gabe by bringing it into the equation.

_And what is it _exactly_ that you have with Gabe?_

Sam wasn't familiar with the feeling, as things with Jess had been very straightforward in the beginning, but he was smart enough to know he was in a relationship limbo right now. Not _quite_ friends, but not _quite_ at the dating stage yet. Back when he'd lived on campus, it had been a common sight and one that his friends complained about constantly. Things got dicey in what was labeled the 'talking' stage; things either fizzled out, or took off, and one misstep could send the relationship teetering back into 'friend' status. Sam had thought they were all insane to put themselves through such a thing (because he and Jess had simply been the _pinnacle_ of perfect relationships), but now that he was in the midst of it, he suddenly understood why everyone had been so confused and frustrated.

Who would make the first move? Who was _supposed_ to make the first move? Should they even be doing anything about it right now? They were pretty busy right now (crime fighting _was_ time-consuming), but that didn't necessarily mean that they should put everything to a screeching halt, right? How fast should they go in the beginning? How far?

Judging by the cherry red Sam was seeing more and more in Gabe's aura (or probably _noticing_ more and more; he _had_ ignored it like a bonehead), he could say with certainty that the P.I wanted to do quite a few things with him that people who were simply didn't do. There was no way he was interpreting that red incorrectly, not when it was usually combined with a cocky smirk or a heated golden gaze.

Sam was lucky there was a park with a public water fountain up ahead. His face was burning now, and not from running.

The cold water felt like a slap against his skin, with the frigid morning air adding an extra bite that had him tossing his head like a horse. Just because it was March didn't mean a thing to Lawrence; it was only marginally warmer today, and Sam knew that it'd remain chilly for a while more.

He didn't linger for long, not wanting to lose the pace he'd set while running. Besides, there was only so much time to think running gave him, and he had some more thoughts to filter through. The park's pale green and earthy tones slipped away as Sam took off once more, chasing the sunrise that was staining the sky pink.

Sam had only ever been with Jess. He'd never really given it much thought, but now that he'd moved on from her, it was proving to be a _little_ bit of a problem. After he'd broken up with her, he'd never gotten back in the game like Dean had suggested, mainly because that simply wasn't how he liked to do things. One-night stands, for various reasons, just weren't for him.

He could tell that, unlike him, Gabe was more than comfortable with them. Sam wasn't sure how many people he'd hooked up with in Lawrence (it certainly wasn't a question of _if_ he had), but he was sure he had. Gabe was flirtatious, with a largely nomadic nature, no desire for long term _anything_, and with enough looks and wit to woo anyone into a little fun for a night. It would be idiotic to assume otherwise, which only made Sam confused because it seemed when it came to _him_, the P.I acted a bit differently.

Gabe seemed more…_patient_ when it came to him. Maybe he was just pinning his hopes on a one-night stand of epic proportions (and _that_ was enough to get his face burning again), but Sam didn't think so. He'd made a few allusions to sticking around in Lawrence longer than he had anywhere else, and Gabe seemed to enjoy their work partnership too much to throw it all away on a passionate whim. He might try to push some more boundaries now that Sam wasn't so blind to what was happening between them, but when it came down to it, Sam didn't think Gabe wanted just _one_ night with him.

_Which is good, because I don't want only one night with him either._

However, not having just the one-night stand implied that there'd be _more_ nights, which was where Sam found himself balking. While he may not hurt anymore at the mere thought of Jess and what they'd once been, he could recall the shitstorm their break up had been with a clarity only traumatic events could imprint on the mind. He didn't think he'd ever binge ate so much food before, and the restraining order…

Sam grimaced. Lisa had had to practically hold his hand through _that_ whole process, and he didn't think he'd ever seen Dean so quietly angry before. Quiet anger wasn't rare for Dean; his brother got all sorts of angry, but despite all the crap he'd been dragged through when it came to Jess, Sam still genuinely worried for her in that period, because Dean had _seethed_. And when Dean seethed, people got hurt.

The point was that Jess had _really_ messed him up. He'd dated her for years and had been convinced that she was the one. They had been high school sweethearts, and she had (supposedly) loved him just as much as he'd loved her. Breaking up with her had proven to Sam that even the most perfect, long term relationships could end in a nasty mess, and he was sure he'd always carry that with him. A long-term relationship didn't guarantee success, so why should he put himself out there?

_I don't do one-night stands, but I'm also hesitant to face commitment, _Sam thought before snorting, _And yet I want to do something with Gabe. What a conundrum._

It was a conundrum that couldn't be solved by one morning run. He was nearing the edge of East Center, where the cityscape gave way to the suburban neighborhoods that defined the eastern outskirts of Lawrence, and he had to go to college today. Going any further meant he'd be potentially late for classes, and this week Sam wanted to give his education a fair shot.

He stood on a street corner and took a moment to take in the approaching sunrise. More and more people were beginning their day, and Sam knew the streets on the way back would be more crowded, but right now, he had this little corner to himself.

Pink gave way to a soft blue as dawn fully took over the sky, and Sam lingered for a moment longer before turning back, his resolve strengthened.

…

LU, for lack of a better word, was quiet.

The chatter on campus was much more subdued, and a somberness permeated the air. Usually, Sam disregarded LU's atmosphere, as there were too many shifting colors to keep track off, not to mention the sheer size of the campus, but he was sure he wasn't imagining the blue-green tint to everything. It was much different from last week when everyone was practically exploding with gossip and rumors about the murders.

Now students were wary, the macabre interest that had come with the shock of Reynolds untimely end giving way to a very real and growing fear of the killer. He'd already struck on campus twice, and while they didn't know it, 3 out of his 4 victims had had some sort of connection to LU. The WM was still closed, which only served as a reminder of what the killer had gotten away with. It was only logical that they were beginning to wonder if he would strike again at LU.

_They're paranoid too. They're all moving in clusters. Scared of what they don't know because the killer could be one of us. _

Sam could feel the strange looks he was getting, as he was one of the few people walking alone that wasn't a cop (and that was another thing; the number of cops had increased significantly). The paranoia started with one and spread to the others, with all of the auras feeding off each other until the clusters of people were sufficiently wound up. It was all very mild; barely enough for Sam to notice if he wasn't looking, but if Death continued to strike on campus, that could easily change.

He had no doubt the killer was one of them. His identity may have still been a mystery, but deep down, Sam _knew_ Death was here somewhere. Maybe he was going to classes, blending in with the thousands of other students, or maybe he was watching the trickle-down effects of his handiwork from a dark corner, feeding off of the growing fear like the paranoia feeding off of itself within the student body.

Sam shivered as he thought of the dark, disgusting aura that belonged to the killer. He'd be able to sense it if Death really _was_ here, but that was only if their paths crossed. Considering how big LU was, it might not even happen, and a part of him hoped that it remained so. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do if he did run into Death.

_Get out of his way, Sam_ thought, thinking of the surreal, clairvoyant dreams he'd had featuring the killer. He could still remember the way the killer had looked at him in the well with no face, trying to figure out who he was as his aura stood out like sin against the washed-out environment.

If he was a lesser person or hadn't grown up with training, Sam probably would've jumped at every shadow and darted to class like a skittish deer like many of the students were doing. He was a Winchester though, and Sam wouldn't let the killer's crimes draw such cowardly responses out of him. So, he walked with confidence and hoped that maybe he did a little something to ease the nervous tension in the air.

Lectures slipped by in a weird haze. Sam was simultaneously listening to his professors while watching auras, something that he normally didn't do during class. The paranoia had followed people in though, and he was dismayed to find that many people were too nervous or scared to properly focus; their auras haunted by varying shades of blue-green. Class discussions were muted, not extremely so, but enough that Sam, who was watching out for it, noticed.

_It's worse than I thought. Another death could really be the tipping point for LU._

His phone vibrated in his pocket, providing a welcome distraction from any more thoughts of LU's decline into paranoia. Sam hoped it was Gabe, or maybe Dean, but was instead greeted with a text notification from Kevin of all people.

_Kev: Meet me in the gazebo by WM after class. U left your lunch dork._

Sam frowned. The text itself would've been completely innocuous if it weren't for the fact that he hadn't forgotten his lunch at all.

It was clear Kevin wanted to meet for other reasons, but why not just come out and say it? Was whatever it was so sensitive that he couldn't risk mentioning anything over the phone? When had he even _gotten_ a new phone?

_Probably Mrs. Tran. But he _did_ have a run in with the Dead Eyes, and he's been much more cautious lately anyway._

That would explain why Kevin was being so cryptic, but _why_ he wanted to meet was a mystery. He had been at home when Gabe had dropped him off yesterday but had left shortly after, and he hadn't been back when Sam had gone for his morning run. There had been signs he'd dropped by when Sam returned to get ready for college, but Kevin himself hadn't been there.

_Only one way to find out._

Sam sent back a quick affirmative and sat through the rest of the class as patiently as he could. Anyone looking at him would've noticed the near silent rap of his fingers against his books as the only sign of impatience.

It was only a little warmer outside by the time Sam was freed from the lecture hall. Worming his way towards the center of campus was easier than usual, as everyone seemed to be avoiding the looming silhouette of WM like the plague. Sam couldn't blame them. The blue-green tint seemed to be a little darker as he approached the closed library, and there was something _off_ about it, as if it the fresh taint of the crime that happened within was stubbornly sticking to it. Maybe it was the events that happened within changing his perception of the library, but Sam found himself wondering if the killer's aura would jump out at him as it did at Cork's crime scene.

Castiel's words of corrupted rituals and the ways Enochian could be twisted to mean things they shouldn't came back to him, and Sam couldn't help but shiver a bit. He wished he could just disregard it as superstitious nonsense, but he'd been sleepwalking (and seeing future things he shouldn't be) too much to do that now.

The gazebo Kevin was referring to was one of many such places that littered campus. It helped break up the monotony of lecture halls and libraries and provided resting places along the walking paths that stretched on for what seemed like forever, not to mention alternate meeting places. It wasn't just gazebos, but the closest 'resting spot' to WM was a small white one surrounded by hedges and plants that flowered in spring.

Spring was still far off though, so there was nothing but the steady green of basic shrubbery and the dried branches of plants that wouldn't flower for some time yet. Kevin was hunched over on one of the benches with his back to the blustery wind, but it wasn't just him. Sam tensed for a brief moment at the sight of someone blond by his side before he took in the familiar pale shades of blue and gray.

"You didn't mention Adam," he said as he strolled up the short set of stairs, causing Kevin to jolt. Adam barely flinched, but his face was hesitant as he stood.

"Sam," he said, nodding his head slightly, "Kevin said you were working on the case."

Sam looked at Kevin, who looked back with unreadable eyes. His aura wasn't nearly as unreadable though; the greens were a little muted and tinted heavily with paranoia, but it was much better than the pale, wispy thing it'd been when he'd burst into their apartment after the run of his life. He was paler than Sam would've liked though, and the dark circles beneath his eyes were still pronounced.

"He deserves to know what's going on," Kevin said quietly, the stubborn streak in his aura blazing dark green for a moment.

Adam shifted on his feet, his aura a rippling mass of hesitancy and burning curiosity, and Sam sighed imperceptibly before biting his lip.

Kevin was right; if anyone deserved to know a little of what was going on, it was Adam. However, there were things that they didn't need to know, not when they were still young and had some remnants of innocence (he wasn't deluded enough to believe it had remained undamaged by their encounter with the killer). Both of them could be unbearably stubborn when they wanted to be, and Sam knew that if _he_ didn't tell them something, they might take it upon themselves to seek information out. Kevin was already trying to save people from falling into gangs after all, and Adam had a compassionate streak a mile wide. Useful for the medical field, but absolutely awful to deal with in the current situation, not to mention his moments of boldness. Not too many people were willing to face a killer with a pocketknife after all.

_Sure, they're young, but I'm only a couple years older. They can handle a few things._

The part of him that wanted to spare them the details was overpowered by the purely Winchester bit that abhorred ignorance in dangerous situations. Sam wasn't sure what to make of it but shoved aside his moral dilemma for another time.

"You didn't hear it from me," he warned, to which the pair nodded with identical somber expressions. Their auras gave away their excitement, and Sam rolled his eyes before sitting down with them.

"The LPD has no idea where this dude is?" Adam asked.

"Nope."

"What about you?" Kevin asked shrewdly, and Sam eyed him for a moment.

"No," he said after a few seconds, "What makes you think we would be?"

"We?" Adam asked, confused.

Kevin shrugged casually, clasping his hands primly in his lap, "You've got enough brains to out beat all their detectives, and so does Gabe. You're ahead of them in some kind of manner."

"Who's Gabe?"

Sam pondered Kevin's words as he explained to Adam who Gabe was. While he could acknowledge that Gabe definitely had the LPD beat when it came to who could solve crime best (Gabe was far cleverer and craftier than people gave him credit for), Sam didn't think the same could be said for _him_. Could it?

_Well, lawyers and law enforcement go hand in hand. Maybe I have my own sort of techniques._

"We're following different leads than them right now," he finally decided to say, "Whether or not they'll pan out is another story."

"They probably will. I've got a gut feeling about it," Adam proclaimed.

"You and your gut feelings," Kevin sighed with an eye roll, "Do you think he'll strike on campus again?"

"It's 50/50," Sam replied honestly, "I'm sure you've both heard about Mitchell by this point."

They both nodded, with Kevin grumbling darkly under his breath about the 'useless principal'. His mutterings reminded Sam of the discussion he and Gabe had had yesterday.

"Did you ever go talk to Mitchell himself about the gang issues?" he asked his old friend curiously. If he had, then it gave credence to the theory that the killer had.

"I mentioned something last year when I still went there and wasn't too involved in it yet. He said he'd 'handle it', but that was a load of crock," Kevin responded with air quotes that had Adam snorting by his side, "Things just got worse."

"And you?" Sam asked, referring to the blond, "Any gang-related experiences? What are things like at Southview right now?"

Adam ran a hand through his hair and grimaced, "Well, I live near good old Kingsford, so that's about all I can say on _that_, but things at Southview are crazy right now. The school just about descended into anarchy when we went back on Friday."

"One half of the school was mourning Mitchell, and the other was gleeful about his demise, and neither of them was holding back from expressing it," Kevin explained quietly as a haunted look descended on Adam's face, "Fights broke out everywhere, and the LPD had to be called in. My friends are saying they arrested at least a dozen people, but I'm not sure how many because the numbers are all over the place."

"I'll find out," Sam said, making a note to ask Gabe about it. It seemed the atmosphere at Southview was just as charged as the one here on campus, albeit in a different way, "Your friends…how have things been going for you on that front?"

He'd been meaning to ask ever since his suspicions about Kevin's side activities had formed, but there never seemed to be enough time to do so. Now was as good a time as any, especially since Sam had a feeling there wouldn't be another opportunity to talk to Kevin like this for a while.

Kevin pressed his lips together and shrugged, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees. He suddenly looked very tired and old, and Sam felt a strange sense of déjà vu as he realized that his longtime friend looked much as he did just a few years ago, when he was struggling to break away from his family and make it to college.

_He's just 17. Teenagers shouldn't look like this._

"I've helped some, and lost some," he said frankly, "Up until the killings started, I had more losses. The Dead Eyes were getting bigger and recruiting to keep up the rep they were building."

"Up until the killings?"

Kevin nodded, the ghost of a smile gracing his pale face. His aura swirled a bit but didn't pale to match his complexion.

"The Dead Eyes are so focused on the killer that they've been slacking in their recruiting process. They're…not so _charming_ anymore when they talk to people, and people are sensing that they could potentially slip in the gang hierarchy. But if we're being honest, I don't think _any_ of the gangs are really focused on recruiting anymore."

Sam arched a questioning eyebrow, and he bit his lip before reaching into his jacket and pulling out an envelope.

"I don't know much about it, but our mutual friend does," Kevin said cryptically, "It's why I got you to come all the way out here. They're very paranoid right now, and with good reason. However, they believe you're the best person to receive this information, and I agree."

Sam blinked as Kevin handed the innocent looking envelope to him with an air of importance and an expression bordering on skittish.

"I…all right, I think?" he said, tucking the envelope away before Kevin could hiss at him to put it away (he certainly _seemed_ a second away from doing so). Adam was pointedly looking away, and his aura suggested that while he suspected something, he wasn't going to say anything.

That was just how Adam was. He was inherently good at keeping secrets and minding his own business. He even knew a few things about Sam (no one but the two of them knew of the bird that had spooked Sam into knocking over a trashcan at Southview back in the old days). Even if he didn't have a bit of a rep for being good at keeping mum, Sam knew that Kevin wouldn't have given him the envelope in his presence if he didn't trust Adam.

"Good," Kevin said, his shoulders slumping in a release of tension, "Is there anything else you can tell us that you think might be important?"

There were a lot of things Sam could've said, but with all the connections and clues and possible leads swirling around in his head (the mysterious letter certainly didn't help at all), it'd take him ages to figure out what to say.

"Watch your backs," he said instead, deciding to be succinct and a bit ominous if that's what it took to keep them from poking their noses in too deep. Sam didn't want them getting any more involved than they were, "I think this guy goes here, and he knows his way around. I don't think he'll target either of you, but that doesn't mean you're safe either. Leave it to the cops."

"And you," Adam quipped, a faint smile on his face, "Sorry to say it, but I have a lot more faith in you and your P.I buddy Gabe than the LPD."

"I don't think 'buddy' is the right term. Try partner," Kevin said in a knowing tone as he elbowed his friend.

They snickered as Sam narrowed his eyes (why were they laughing like that?), and Kevin grinned before hopping to his feet.

"We shouldn't linger," he explained, "We'll see you around Sam. Our mutual friend implied this won't be the last of our correspondence."

Sam nodded his understanding, and the two younger boys left. Their auras left wisps of color in the gazebo but quickly faded into undecipherable shades of blue and green and gray that the wind blew away.

The letter practically burned in his pocket, but Sam waited until he'd walked a sufficient way away in his own separate direction before pulling it out. He took shelter under the overhanging of a side entrance before pulling out the envelope, which fluttered in the wind.

Something curled around the edge of the envelope, so pale and flimsy that Sam almost didn't notice it. The aura was there though; a pale tendril of violet that had faded to nearly gray.

_Meg?_

He opened the letter and had his suspicions confirmed.

_S.W,_

_I'm writing this cause I'm too paranoid to call or text. Even less enthused about the idea of a face to face right now, not when the Dead Eyes could track either one of us down. They haven't tried to get me since the Roadhouse, but I get the feeling that's only because they think I'm either in the hospital or dead, and I'm not about to correct that assumption._

_There's a new drug coming to Lawrence. Potent shit, and when I mean potent, I mean _potent_. Not sure what it is, but it's unlike anything I've ever heard of. Apparently it affects people in different ways, but there are some common effects. It can make people very angry, very strong and fast at their peaks, and hallucinate. It's incredibly addictive, and lethal in large enough doses. I can't find the official name, but people have been giving it their own nicknames. The most popular one right now is __demon's blood__._

_No one knows where it's coming from exactly, but it's definitely _not_ coming from the Dead Eyes. Too complicated for them, but they _do_ want to sell it. It's why they're so crazy about the Crucifier; he's making them look weak at a time when they want to look strong so they can get their hands on some demon's blood._

_It's also why they burned down the Roadhouse. Kyle did it to get back at me, and to make the Dead Eyes look tough, but it was also to hide the trace of demon's blood. Remember Gordon? I'm convinced he got his hands on some of it, which is why he was aggressive and out of it the night of that crazy bar brawl. Where he got it from is a mystery, but the means aren't beyond him._

_This drug is set to hit the streets soon; sometime before the summer for sure. I don't know who's running the operation, but whoever it is has to have some kind of street cred, because they have all the big dogs practically begging for a share of demon's blood._

_Burn this letter when you've finished reading it. Our messenger will continue to bring these whenever I get the chance to write one, or if I learn something new. If we do meet, it'll be on my own terms. Right now, laying low is my best option._

_-M_

Even if he hadn't had the initials and the faded aura to tell him, Sam thought he would've recognized it to be from Meg by the handwriting. Years of taking orders had familiarized him with the odd mesh of cursive and print she liked to call writing.

Sam tucked the letter into his jacket pocket for safekeeping before pulling out his phone. Meg had given him some important information, and more than a few puzzle pieces were falling into place.

_That's why Gordon was so erratic that night, and why maybe the killer is too, _Sam thought as dialed a now familiar number. Gordon's aura and the killer's weren't nearly on the same level, but they both were emotionally off the charts; Gordon with what Sam now knew as drug-induced rage, and the killer with...

_Something else. More than just homicidal tendencies; he's like evil incarnated._

It seemed unlikely that the Crucifier would take drugs if he hated gangs so much, but if it really _did_ give people what was, in essence, a super boost, then it wasn't too hard to believe that the Crucifier could've justified the use for it in his head. It would've made him fast enough to outrun Sam, strong enough to set up his elaborate crime scenes, and maybe even mad enough to begin killing in the first place.

"Sam?"

"Hey Gabe," he said, now striding towards the center of campus. He already had a destination in mind and hoped that the P.I would be willing to meet him, "How busy are you right now?"

"Nothing that can't wait," Gabe said slowly before his tone grew serious, "What's the matter?"

"Just learned something interesting," Sam said hastily before Gabe could grow concerned, "Meet me at the Starbucks by campus? I can't say why over the phone, but it'll be worth your time."

There was a pause as if Gabe was trying to figure out how serious it could be if it couldn't be mentioned over the phone.

"You're always worth my time, but all right, I'm on my way. You _better_ not be in trouble or anything," he grumbled, and Sam's lips quirked.

"When do I _ever_ get in trouble?"

"I won't even deem that with a response, joking or otherwise!"

They hung up shortly after that, leaving Sam to walk alone. He didn't mind though and hardly cared about the fact that their meeting couldn't be too long if he wanted to make it to his afternoon class. Classes suddenly seemed to pale in comparison to the new turn the case had taken.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE

This has gone up a lot later than I wanted it to, but I was hit with quite a few things at once in April. First my allergies (gotta love pollen), and then spring break, which was cut short by the removal of my wisdom teeth. I did not do well with the gas they gave me, and anesthesia was an...intriguing experience. I've also been busy with my art portfolio, which has been going meh for me. this isn't my first rodeo run, but I do want to hurry up and get it over with.

Enough of that though. I've returned with a largely mediocre transitional chapter, but it does contain some goodies. Demon's blood will be an important concept, and a few things have been set up here for further development later!

Also just wanna say that it's now been a little over a year since I first began posting fanfiction. Boy does time fly!


	4. Backward Forward

**Chapter 4- Backward/Forward**

It said a lot that Gabe barely took the time to determine what clothes he threw on to replace his PJs as he tried to rush out as quickly as he could. One minute he was lounging about on the couch, glaring at the case board and half-heartedly listening to what the news had to say about the killer (nothing very useful besides how deranged he was), and the next he was out the door.

Sure, Sam had reassured him that it wasn't life-threatening and serious, but dammit did he attract trouble! Blood couldn't draw sharks in better by comparison. After meeting Dean, Gabe was convinced it was a family trait, and one he was beginning to dislike more and more. It was going to become even _more_ difficult to keep Sam safe and in one relative piece if the case took extreme twists and turns like this. He knew the Winchester could take care of himself; hell, Gabe had seen it for himself (All those Roadhouse bar fights? Gold.), but he worried regardless.

Gabe wasn't sure where all this concern was coming from, but he had a suspicion it was a byproduct of his affections for Sam. It made a certain amount of sense that when one _really_ liked someone, one would also worry about them if they were in trouble or, God forbid, _hurt_, but Gabe didn't think one worried this _much_. To him it seemed extreme, but he didn't have any real sort of basis to go off of; he'd never felt like this for anyone else before, so how could he tell?

Beyond the worry for Sam however was a burning sense of curiosity. Gabe hadn't wanted to say anything to him for fear of disappointing him, but the truth was that he was having trouble trying to work the case out. It was one of the most difficult and convoluted puzzles he'd encountered yet, and it was irritating him the longer he went without making some sort of notable headway. There were simply too many moving parts and aspects to it now, and while having Sam as an extra set of eyes helped tremendously, Gabe wasn't sure if it would be enough.

He didn't want to admit it, because Gabriel Milton _certainly_ wasn't a quitter when it came to the job (he'd solved every case he'd had after all!), but the likelihood of putting a face to the serial killer seemed to be waning with each passing day.

The killer was just too _good_. No forensic evidence, no usable camera footage; it was like he was a ghost! All they had to identify him were the eyewitness accounts from the WM incident and the time Sam had chased him, which culminated to a description so vague that it could fit a good portion of the male population of LU. Sure, they had a motive, but it was so steeped in insanity that it made Gabe's head hurt just _thinking_ about it.

_Or it's just the Enochian doing that._

Gabe had tried to stay objective when it came to the Enochian, and for a time, he had. It had been remarkably easy to when he had to feign ignorance in front of Sam and the others. It had been even easier when things had picked up in the last week or so and there had barely been time to eat and sleep, let alone try to get the long-forgotten symbols out of his head.

He couldn't be objective anymore though. Gabe had known when he had told Sam a bit of his past that he was opening a dangerous door, but at the time he couldn't resist. It was freeing to be able to talk to Sam about things he'd never talked to anyone about before. All it took was one of the Winchester's compassionate, understanding gazes and he was a goner. If Gabe wasn't so into Sam, he'd have bemoaned how pathetic it was to have his walls reduced to rubble by a single _look_.

_Not all of them._

No, not all of them. When Gabe had told Sam his tragic story of abandonment, those soft puppy eyes of kindness hadn't cut away all of his distrusting nature. There were two details he'd kept from Sam, and while he wasn't exactly _proud_ of it (the amount of guilt he felt was more notable than he'd anticipated), it was necessary for the time being.

The first was that he'd actually been 12 and a devious little sneak when he'd originally swiped his case file when his social worker hadn't been looking. The second was that there hadn't been one note, but _two_ that had been left with him that fateful night in the church. Gabe had always been told that there'd been only one because no one could make heads or tails of the second, and with good reason.

The second had been written in Enochian, and Gabriel Milton continued to be haunted by the language of angels ever since.

"Stop it," he said to himself, glaring at the headlights of the car ahead of him. Today, traffic seemed to be working against him. "It's behind you. A stupid language can't _do_ anything to you."

Except it wasn't behind him, and it could do far more things than simply form words.

Gabe huffed and reached for the stereo system, fumbling for the nearest CD and shoving it in blindly. He was _not_ going to think about Enochian anymore, even if it took blasting music loud enough to make his ears bleed to do so.

He wasn't sure whether to scream or laugh when Fall Out Boy began to play. Gabe let out a strangled combination of both before hitting his head once on the steering wheel and turning it up anyway.

"Who am I to question the ways of the universe?" he asked, voice lost in the music filling his car.

Gabe had always been keen on the concept of karma and higher powers that weren't necessarily religious, and so decided to accept the sign for what it was. Other people would've applied logic to the scenario, but the job required so much logic that Gabe had none left for the other aspects of his life.

Besides, thinking of Sam was far more enjoyable than thinking of Enochian. Gabe spent the rest of the drive thinking of him, and by the time he'd reached Starbucks, had lost the funk Enochian had given him.

Since it was Monday, Starbucks was practically packed with people trying to get their quick caffeine lunch fix. That hadn't deterred Sam from making camp at a table, and he easily stood out for his height despite the fact that he was seated. It was clear he was putting all his skills of multitasking to use, as his laptop and schoolwork shared the space with two drinks. Despite his clear busyness, he still somehow managed to sense he was there because he looked up just as Gabe was beginning to elbow his way over.

The P.I really wanted to know how he did that, but the urge to ask died when Sam's tired face brightened. He'd been lighting up like that recently, which made Gabe wonder if maybe, just _maybe_, Sam was becoming receptive to his advances.

_God do I want him to be, but with Sam, I need to take it easy. One wrong move could ruin what we have._

"You look as if you just woke up," the Winchester remarked as he sat down, but he seemed to like whatever he looked like at the moment if his indulgent smile was anything to go by.

Gabe ran a hand self consciously through his hair anyway (he was sometimes the victim of _truly_ catastrophic bedhead), making Sam smile wider.

"You don't look much better Sammo," he retorted, though beneath his joking pout he examined Sam carefully. The circles beneath his eyes were too dark for his liking, and the Winchester seemed jittery. His knee was jiggling beneath the table; Gabe could feel it, and he wondered if it had anything to do with what Sam wanted to tell him.

_If it's anything serious, I'll have to try and convince him to let me handle it._

He probably wouldn't have much luck considering how stupidly stubborn and selfless Sam could be, but that didn't mean Gabe wouldn't try his best. Sam wasn't the only one that could be headstrong.

"Lots of things are going on right now," Sam replied nonchalantly before nudging the drink closer to him, "I hope you like your coffee. I figured appeasing your sweet tooth was the safest option."

"Smart as always," Gabe commented, but frowned as he reached for the drink, "I should've specified I'd be paying."

"I'm the one that called you out here," Sam said with a dismissive wave of his hand, "You remember Kevin and Adam, right?"

Gabe listened carefully as he was recounted the tale of Sam's morning before being passed the letter surreptitiously. Judging by the way he spoke, Sam seemed convinced that this was the kind of break in the case.

He had to admit he hadn't been expecting anything like this when he'd answered the phone (Nothing good could _possibly_ come from a drug nicknamed 'demon blood'), but the gut instinct for the job was telling him that this was by no means unimportant.

"What do you make of this?" the P.I asked, folding the letter up and sipping his drink thoughtfully. While his brain was already spinning with possible theories, he wanted to hear what Sam thought. Gabe was positive the Winchester wouldn't disappoint and was proven right when Sam explained how he thought the killer was possibly taking demon's blood to allow him an edge when killing and setting up his scenes.

"Think about it; the guy we chased was pretty lean, probably even scrawny. There's no way he'd be able to set these bodies up on his own!" Sam said, eyes bright with that spark that Gabe had seen in some particularly bright detectives he'd worked with before. It was truly a loss that he had chosen to study law.

_What a waste, _Gabe thought, propping his chin in his hand, _Someone like him would be a breath of much needed fresh air for the LPD._

"And since there's basically no chance he has an accomplice, his assistance comes in the form of drugs," he said, smiling as Sam nodded enthusiastically.

"Exactly. Extra strength and speed would allow him to set up his scenes, and if he keeps taking it, he's probably going to become even more unstable."

"He's still wickedly clever though," Gabe pointed out, "So the drug can't be affecting him too much mentally, or else he would've slipped up by now."

"It's affecting him more physically then," Sam concluded, "And since this drug hasn't even hit the streets yet, there's a strong likelihood that we can trace him through this."

Gabe said nothing, only slurping thoughtfully on his (actually really good) drink.

False or secondary leads were common in cases; especially in complicated ones. While this had all the appearance of a secondary lead, Gabe's gut was still twinging. Assuming The Crucifier _was_ taking this drug, then tracing him through it would be very clever indeed. That was _assuming_ he was doing demon blood though, and while it was a logical assumption, he could also be doing something else like steroids.

Demon blood made sense in a strange way though. It sounded like a potent drug, and if the Crucifier had some sort of gang connection like they'd hypothesized, then he could've somehow gotten his hands on it. It even had a supernatural nickname, though considering how much the Crucifier seemed to hate 'demons' and gangs, that bit of information might actually work against them.

_Unless he's so insane that he doesn't care about being a hypocrite._

"Gabe?"

Pursuing this lead would certainly be dangerous; of that Gabe had no doubt. The few instances he'd had with drugs in his youth had been enough to keep him from falling into them completely like some people he knew, and in the cases he'd worked, he'd always hated the drug-related ones. There was a wild, crazy edge to them because people on drugs always did wild, crazy things.

A lead was a lead though, and it was all Gabe had to go on.

He knew Sam wouldn't take it well if he tried to keep him from checking it out. Gabe didn't want to alienate him, not when it seemed as if Sam was warming up to him in a completely new and _very_ much wanted way, but at the same time, he didn't want to risk any sort of harm coming Sam's way from this.

His dilemma only served as a reminder of why he wasn't in the habit of caring for people, yet here he was.

Before Gabe could tie his thoughts up into any more knots, a thumb pressed out the furrow in his brow.

Gabe's eyes flicked up to Sam, whose face was a strange mix of exasperation and fondness.

"What have I told you about worrying? I can take care of myself, you know," he said, offering a lopsided smile as he somehow managed to guess what the P.I was thinking.

Gabe opened his mouth to retort but stopped as Sam's hand slipped down to cup the side of his face. He was very warm, and his cheek seemed to tingle at the unexpected touch.

"I know this lead can be dangerous," he said quietly. His eyes were much greener today, and they searched his face intently, "Handling it by yourself is probably what you want to do right now, but I'd feel better if I went with you so I can keep you safe. We're partners, aren't we?"

They weren't close enough for Sam's words to be felt against his skin, but a minute shiver ran down Gabe's spine anyway. All the protests in his head seemed to fall away, leaving only one thought.

_If I could just close the distance…_

Something passed through Sam's eyes. Gabe wasn't sure what it was, because it vanished as quickly as it appeared, but it made the green darken just a bit in a familiar way that Gabe was sure could be-

"Gabe, we're partners," he stated, without a single hint of doubt in his voice, "And we made a promise."

Gabe didn't make promises lightly. Maybe because he'd had so many of them broken in his childhood; he'd certainly heard people throw around that word lightly to get what they want. He had always taken promises seriously when he'd truly meant them, and he'd meant it when he'd made one with Sam.

It was hard to forget that night the Roadhouse had burnt down, when the fire had been blazing and they'd smelled of smoke and adrenaline. Gabe didn't think he'd ever made a more serious promise in his life.

"I did, didn't I?" he muttered, eyes narrowing as his head cleared in an uncomfortable rush. Sam's hand was still on his face, and it felt _good_, but his senses had returned.

The brief moment of temptation was gone. Sam's eyes had lightened again, back to an ever-changing hazel, and he seemed so normal that Gabe was almost convinced he'd just imagined it all.

"You did," he said, flashing a boyish grin at him before leaning back. The absence of his hand felt cold against Gabe's cheek, and the P.I sighed.

"You win, kiddo," he grumbled, all while internally reeling at how _close_ he'd been to Sam, "We'll check out this lead together."

Sam beamed at him, and if Gabe hadn't still felt concern over what they could possibly be getting into, he would've reveled completely in that smile.

"Great! Let's go now," he said enthusiastically, shutting his laptop with a crisp snap.

"Woah, woah, woah! What's the rush, Sammo?" Gabe asked hastily, and the Winchester blinked before tilting his head.

"We should do this as soon as possible since there's a _serial killer_ out there?"

Gabe wrinkled his nose at Sam's I-can't-believe-you're-being-this-dense-right-now tone of voice.

"What about, er…classes?" he asked, finishing lamely with a wave to the bustling street outside.

Sam snorted before tossing his head, throwing his fringe back in a messy array that had Gabe holding onto his drink with both hands lest he lose self-control and do something stupid like try and fix it.

_That, among other things, would be a bad idea with Sam. _

It was hard to restrain himself, especially since he had come to terms with how much he liked Sam. Everything in him was telling him to do things the good old-fashioned way, Gabriel Milton style. Heavy flirting, cliché moves, innuendos tossed about like confetti, the works. It was a tried and true method that had gotten him into people's pants just as it was intended to, except he wasn't _just_ trying to get into Sam's pants here.

_Right. I'm also trying to do all the other _emotional_ stuff that Sam just happened to get burned badly by._

For what was probably the fifth time that week alone (and it was only Monday), Gabe wanted to hunt down Jess and have a little _chat_ about what she'd done.

"They're largely self-study classes, and besides, the campus is a wreck right now," Sam remarked, batting his eyes lashes in a faux-innocent manner that had Gabe struggling not to laugh, "Everyone's scared out of their minds! If I don't feel safe going, then I shouldn't go, right?"

"I thought you could take care of yourself, Mr. Winchester," the P.I retorted with an arched eyebrow.

Sam blinked once, then twice, and Gabe burst out into raucous laughter.

"Gotcha! Can't think of a comeback for that one, huh?" he asked between chuckles, and Sam scowled viciously at him before his lips twitched.

"Okay, I can admit defeat there," he conceded, "But that makes us even now!"

"In your dreams," Gabe said, but he stood anyway in a signal that it was time to go, "Come on, Sam-a-lam. The day grows old before us!"

"That's an odd way to put it," Sam mused as they left the Starbucks. It had grown a fraction of a degree warmer outside (which wasn't very much warmer at all), and the bright sun gave off the illusion that it would get even warmer, "People usually say the day is still young."

"I'm a backward sort of guy, Sammy, haven't you noticed?"

They both approached the haphazardly parked Beetle, but before they got in, Sam looked over the roof of the car at Gabe with a strange look on his face. The P.I quickly recognized it as one of Sam's 'knowing' looks, but it quickly faded into a grin that pinned Gabe to the spot.

"I know," he replied simply, eyes crinkled from the force of his smile, "That's why we get on so well."

Sam ducked into the car, and Gabe hesitated for a moment, trying to make sense of his words. Was Sam implying that he too was backward, or that he just liked his…backwardness?

Gabe shook his head before getting into the driver's seat. It was times like these that he was reminded that however well he thought he knew Sam, there was always something he'd had yet to reveal. Sometimes it was frustrating, but Gabe always felt a sense of excitement when he got a glimpse beneath the surface to the true depths beneath. He didn't think he could ever get tired of what Sam had to reveal.

The real problem was how Sam would feel if he realized just how much _Gabe_ had to reveal, and how dark and troubled the depths were beneath the surface.

…

"What are we doing here?"

Sam's confusion was evident as they got out of the car, and Gabe didn't blame him. He'd purposefully been evasive about where they were going on the drive, and he'd never taken Sam here.

"This is where we found Reynold," he said, nodding at the small establishment in front of them. Even though it was midday, all the neon signs were on a buzzing up a storm, advertising prices and Jumpstart Café's _very_ open status, "You never saw it, and it's near Kingsford, so I figured it'd be relevant if we worked backward for a moment."

A considering look came over Sam's face, driving Gabe to remain silent as they stepped in. He had to admit; he was curious as to what Sam would make of the place. The P.I himself hadn't had many impressions of the place at the time of the original scene due to how early in the case it'd been, but maybe Sam would come up with something new.

"I was always curious about why Death had set him up here despite leaving that message in his classroom," the Winchester remarked, looking around at the cramped, dim interior.

Jumpstart Café wasn't a very impressive place, with the main focus being the few rows of available computers and a counter at the back which was filled with all sorts of knick-knacks for sale. Off to the left was a small drink and snack station, and to the immediate right of the door was a small, but open section of floor above which Reynold had been hung.

The worker behind the counter was the same raccoon-eyed, college-aged part-timer Gabe had encountered the first time around, except this time he wasn't pale and shaking from having discovered a body. All it took to send him packing was a quick flash of his badge and a jerk of his head, and then the duo was alone.

"My original working theory was that since it was the beginning of his 'journey', The Crucifier started his killing spree with a bang," the P.I said, "But since Reynold technically _wasn't_ killed first, I'm not so sure anymore."

"I think it still holds up, but for different reasons. He _chose_ to reveal Reynold first," Sam countered, "Death clearly puts thought into what he does, which means he probably did want to start with something big enough to grab everyone's attention."

_He calls him Death, _Gabe noted curiously as they stood facing each other in the bare floor space, _While The Crucifier _is_ a pretty gauche moniker, it's the go-to name for him now, so why Death? Because that's how the killer refers to himself? _

Whatever the reasoning, it was a _much_ creepier name than The Crucifier, which, now that Gabe thought about it, was probably the killer's whole point behind it.

"He was hung up here," Sam stated, voice soft with that far off quality it took when his eyes slipped off to gaze at everything-_beyond_, for lack of a better term, "Right here so people would see him, or some of him at least."

He nodded at the small windowfront half obscured by all the neon signs before whirling on his heel to face the back of the store.

"And back there was where he wrote his message, right?"

Gabe hummed affirmation, too focused on letting the Winchester's odd, but strangely accurate thought process unfold to disrupt it by speaking. Sam turned back around to tilt his head back to look at the ceiling, exposing a long stretch of throat that had Gabe averting his eyes before he lingered too long on it.

_Not the right time, Milton!_

"Strange, how he wrote two messages tied to Reynold," Sam murmured, "I'm assuming the plastered hole in the ceiling was where a…cross once was?"

"Full shebang," Gabe said, looking up with him. The plaster job had been sloppily done, stark white against the dirty gray of the ceiling, "Built just sturdily enough to display him. The long bit was poked through the ceiling, and he was tied to the shorter bit; not nailed. When the took him down, they got quite the fright when the short beam came with him."

"Crucifixion isn't the important aspect to him," Sam concluded.

He looked down at the floor, his eyes narrowing suddenly as if he'd spotted something particularly disgusting. Gabe followed his gaze instinctively but saw nothing beyond the regular tile.

_Unless he's seeing something I can't._

Gabe was an open-minded person; had to be considering all the shit he'd gone through and seen in his life. It was much easier to take the punches life threw at him if he accepted that they would come instead of resisting the notion, and as such, was a very hard person to shock.

The idea that Sam Winchester had some sort of special, superpowered sight that allowed him to come to conclusions regular people never could was certainly up there on the crazy level, but Gabe prided himself on being a good investigator. He'd observed Sam enough over the time he'd known him to determine that the idea had merit, if not solid credibility. There were the strange, unfocused looks, the on the nose information he'd pull from nowhere right _after_ such looks, and the way he'd adjust the conversation or his own actions in _just_ the right manner.

He'd seen the process when Sam had 'magically' procured the flash drive from that duffel bag. Gabe hadn't known it then (he'd just thought it'd been a particularly great piece of detective work), but the 2+2 pattern just kept repeating and repeating. Sam didn't do drugs, and his mental health seemed normal, so after exhausting all the other possibilities, Gabe had accepted that the answer was indeed 4, however unbelievable it seemed.

The actual mechanics behind Sam's sight was the real mystery now that Gabe had more or less accepted its existence. Whatever it was, it seemed to exist all around the Winchester as an overlay to reality, and it gave him insight to things people usually didn't have any sort of clue for. Visually it could appear as anything, though if he had to take a gander, he'd say it probably appeared as some sort of pattern or color. After all, it was a sight-based sense.

One thing he knew for sure was that it _wasn't_ mind reading, however uncanny Sam's conclusions were. If it was, Gabe had a feeling their relationship would be completely different considering how much he thought of Sam in more than friendly terms.

_I won't know until he tells me for himself, and the likelihood of that is slim to none. He probably thinks I'd write him off as a lunatic._

Gabe actually wasn't sure what he'd say to Sam if the subject was ever broached. It was clear hardly anyone knew about it, and they really _had_ only known each other for a few weeks despite how much longer it felt. He probably ranked very low on the 'possibly might need to know' basis.

He knew he wouldn't judge Sam for it, and he _certainly_ wouldn't throw him into the loony bin. In the grand scheme of things, the Winchester's supervision didn't stand out much to Gabe. Catching The Crucifier while circumventing the LPD and keeping their asses in one piece was a much bigger concern.

_Besides, it's Sam. Doesn't matter what he may or may not possibly see; I've got his back either way._

"What's the most important aspect then?" he asked in an attempt to draw Sam's attention from the floor and-_whatever_ it was he was looking at.

Sam's glassy eyes flicked back up to him before they snapped back into focus.

"The mission," he said, clearing his throat and looking away, as if he'd been caught doing something wrong (did he feel as if he was doing something wrong?), "He considers himself the only person up to the task, and feels as if he's doing his duty."

"He's a lone wolf with a sense of purpose."

"Which is what makes him so dangerous," Sam said, looking him in the eye properly for the first time since they'd walked in, "He won't stop."

They gazed at each other for a moment in silence that was only punctuated by the intermittent buzzing of the neon signs. Sam's statement would've almost been ominous if Gabe hadn't already acknowledged deep down that The Crucifier was the type of killer that would just _keep on killing_.

Sam suddenly scoffed and shoved his hands into his pockets with an irritated look on his face.

"What's the point of working backward? We already _know_ all of this," he muttered, scuffing the floor with his toe, "There's nothing new to learn here! We know he kills by himself and won't stop anytime soon, and that it's all about the mission, so what are we doing here?"

"Perspective," Gabe remarked calmly, but internally he was caught off guard by Sam's sudden mood shift, "Sometimes revisiting a crime scene after the initial visit reveals something new."

"Well, there's nothing," Sam snapped, hunching his shoulders.

Gabe's eyes narrowed for a moment on what was clearly defensive body language. Sam had also half turned away from him and was looking all over the café, especially at the darker corners the fluorescent lights didn't _quite_ reach. The more he looked, the more Sam sidled closer to him and the window, which was letting in the only natural light that the place got.

The realization hit the P.I like a slap to the face.

_He's wary. But of what?_

"Are you sure about that?" he asked slowly, taking a careful step towards the Winchester. Suddenly Gabe was suspicious of the shadowy corners, and it took all he had (not to mention the rational bit of his mind reminding him there wasn't anything physical lurking) not to push his jacket back and reach for his holster.

"Yes," Sam said firmly, but his eyes told another story as they lingered on a back corner of the café.

The abrupt thought of Enochian came to Gabe's mind, but he wasn't sure why until he looked at the back wall.

When he'd first reached the crime scene, he had almost convinced himself he wouldn't find any Enochian. The classroom filled with it had just somehow been a fluke, and there was _no way_ it could be here in some dingy internet café, could it? Gabe had tried and tried to convince himself, and it was only until he'd seen the bloody writing for himself that he _knew_ it wasn't going away anytime soon. It was like he was 12 all over again, wishing fervently that he'd never taken the note from his case file and tried to decipher what it said.

Even now, he could see the faint imprints of it on the back wall. They'd cleaned all the blood off, but that didn't mean that the ghost of it wasn't there. Enochian was a language that _lingered_.

_Just because it isn't physical doesn't mean it doesn't exist. Didn't I learn that the hard way?_

"What do you see?"

Gabe instantly regretted ever mentioning anything as soon as he'd asked. Sam's face closed off so quickly and thoroughly that it was as if he was almost a different person. His eyes were now completely focused, but his face was pale, lips pressed tight as his hands clenched in fists by his side.

"What do you mean?" he asked, so calmly that if he didn't look as if he was considering bolting all the back to LU, Gabe could've believed he hadn't touched a nerve.

But he had. It was clear as day to him, and it was just one more piece of proof for the P.I that Sam saw something.

Gabe wanted to tell Sam that it was ok. The urge to do so and to reassure him that he wouldn't judge him for it was so strong that Gabe actually took a physical step forward, ready to do so. Sam hadn't judged him for his preferences (he'd noticed Sam's subtle words at Dean's apartment; he wasn't stupid), so how could he judge him for this?

"I mean your detective intuition, Watson," he said instead, the deflection slipping so smoothly from his tongue that it took Gabe a moment to realize that his thoughts hadn't lined up at all with what he'd intended, "C'mon, I know something's rattling around in that big brain of yours Sammo!"

Intentions and actions continued to war briefly in Gabe's head (that's not what was supposed to be said!), but after Sam visibly relaxed, he knew he'd done the right thing.

Now wasn't the right time to ask Sam about it, if he ever did. Sam might just need to be the one to tell him on his own terms, and at the very least they could do it in a better setting. Tiny hole-in-the-wall internet cafes weren't the place for such important conversations.

The jingle of bells alerted them both to the entrance of newcomers. In a silent agreement that they were quickly mastering, the duo decided that it was time to go, and moved to do so.

Being in the front, Gabe was the first to notice something off about the men.

He wasn't sure what it was _exactly_ that alerted him that they were in trouble. Maybe it was the various swaggers and slouches the trio sported. It was a familiar walk to him, as he'd seen many gangers and wannabe gangers move that way. Or maybe it was the suspicious bulges in their waistbands that hinted at weapons.

All Gabe knew was that there was only one gang in town whose symbol was a red eye, and it boded bad news that the back of one of the guys' jackets was emblazoned with it.

_Shit._

A hand grasped his bicep and pulled him back towards the window front, and Gabe knew Sam had noticed the danger when he began to shuffle them sideways towards the door as inconspicuously as possible.

"Just follow my lead," the Winchester whispered in his ear, "They haven't noticed us yet."

It certainly seemed like they hadn't. All three men seemed completely focused on the counter, which was still empty.

"Where the hell is that little shit?" the tallest asked, slamming his hand down on the counter. "Rosco! I know you're back there!"

"This is _so_ dumb. I could be warm back home right now," the shortest grumbled as he shifted from side to side. Judging from his voice and height, he was the youngest out of the three, "Why did we have to come today?"

"Because Dead Eyes take their money when they want it, and Rosco _owes_ us," the last one said, punching the youngest one in the arm to emphasize just how much Roscoe apparently owed them. The red eye on the back of his jacket seemed to glow like a brand in the dim light.

Gabe glanced back at Sam, who shook his head and reached up to grab the bell with one hand so it wouldn't ring on their way out.

"_Rosco_!"

"Alright, I'm coming, I'm coming. Jeez, can't a guy take a piss in peace?" Rosco grumbled as he emerged from the back, pausing comically at the sight of the Dead Eyes waiting at the counter.

"Ah, shit-"

"We want our money, Rosco," the tall one said, leaning on the counter, "You wouldn't make us come all this way in the cold just to try and stiff us, would you?"

Rosco went even paler than he naturally was, eyes flicking this way and that as he cringed away from the trio crowding in closer and closer towards the counter. He was obviously looking for a way out, so when his eyes landed on them, Gabe wasn't surprised, even as his stomach twisted.

"C'mon man, you gotta help me!"

The trio turned to see who Rosco was pleading to, and Sam cursed under his breath as the one with the eye on the back of his jacket frowned at them.

"Who the hell are _you_ guys?"

"Hey, hold on…he's got a badge!" the youngest one said, pointing at Gabe's pocket, where the top of it was poking out.

_Crap-_

"Time to go," Sam muttered, hauling him backward through the door before the other two could react to what their friend had said.

"He's got a _what_? "

"Sam-"

"Get them!"

That was _not_ what Gabe wanted to hear (focus on the money, not _us_!), but the trio wasted no time in hustling after them. He could hear the bell jangling wildly after them.

"Dammit, why are they chasing us?" Sam asked, grabbing him by the hand and leading them down the sidewalk _away_ from where he'd parked the Beetle.

Gabe tried to tug him back, confused and more than a little worried that the Winchester had lost it, and at such a crucial time too.

"Sam, wrong _direction_!"

"No time to get in it," he said shortly, already gaining speed (damn him and those long legs!), "Follow me, and don't stop!"

Gabe had no intentions of stopping or letting the Dead Eyes catch up. He could already hear them gaining ground, harsh breaths loud in the cold air.

"Hell no," he muttered before he put on a burst of speed to catch up to Sam, "I'm _not_ going to be the slow one today."

He'd puzzle out why the Dead Eyes were chasing them later. Right now, he'd just keep up with Sam and hope the Winchester knew where he was going.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE

So in the time since I posted Chapter 4, I submitted my second art portfolio for scoring, sat on the sidelines for a lot of school drama, and am now eagerly awaiting my graduation. Am I the only one ready to put high school behind me?

Also, my writing schedule has been pretty much shredded this month, which sucks. I have at least brought you a Gabe POV chapter because we all love those, and the next chapter has some interesting Sabriel moments. Definitely more than what this chapter has.

And yes, there's a lot of running in this story. Do I realize that Chapter 5 in Chromaticity contained a chase as well? Yup. Not my original intention, but the parallel is there now.

I'll see you guys whenever life lets me post the next chapter. Fingers crossed it won't be too long!


	5. Hunters and the Hunted

**Chapter 5: Hunters and the Hunted**

If Sam had known he'd be chased by Dead Eyes that day through the backstreets of Lawrence, he wouldn't have bothered with his morning run.

Gabe's aura overlapped him as their feet pounded the pavement, constantly by his side in an adrenaline filled rush of gold. Sam was impressed that he was managing to keep up, especially as he began to lead them through a series of increasingly narrow and unusual paths that he was choosing to take so quickly he barely thought about it. First through someone's backyard, then taking a hard hairpin turn that led down a back alley too dark for midday, and then a shortcut through a tiny park…

_Left. Right. Down this alley; it has a sudden turn we can use to throw them off, and then another left._

The area was one Sam was intimately familiar with due to the years of exploration he always got up to with John and Dean. It was the grey zone between everyday Lawrence and the Kingsford Parallel, and as a result, lots of crime filtered through this way. John had used these streets for the beginning of their training for that very reason; it gave them a taste of what laid beyond the Kingsford Parallel.

Therefore, it wasn't a surprise that they'd run into Dead Eyes here, but in the same café that Reynold had been killed in?

He could hear them trailing after them, steadily losing ground with every sneaky twist and turn Sam implemented. Their auras weren't anything special in terms of color and size, but they were distinct in their various levels of anger and determination to catch them. He was also pretty sure at least one of them was high on something by the way it was off balanced.

"Sam, where are we going?" Gabe asked in a rush of breath as one of the guys behind them hollered incoherently.

_Definitely drugs._

Sam glanced about, quickly determining their relative location as they burst out onto a bigger street.

Fighting them was the quickest way to end this chase. The possibility of them being armed was likely, but that meant little to Sam. Just because someone had a gun didn't make them omnipotent, especially if they barely knew how to use it properly like many low-ranking gang members. The finer details of his training were rusty, but Sam knew that his skills would be better than anything the Dead Eyes could bring to the table.

_Take them down, and double back to the car to make a speedy getaway._

A perfectly solid, Winchester style plan. John and Dean would be very proud to see him now.

"Just keep following me. I have an idea," he said, grasping Gabe's arm momentarily to lead him down the street and into another alley.

This alley had plenty of debris, from garbage cans and wooden crates to broken furniture and metal barrels. After determining that the alley wasn't a dead end (just as he'd remembered), Sam pushed Gabe in front of him and used the rubbish to his advantage.

"Go all the way to the end and take the left," he said forcefully as he began to knock the nearest things over to block their path to buy them some time, "And wait there."

Sam knew Gabe wouldn't like the idea, but he didn't anticipate the sheer amount of _resistance_ that filled his aura, turning the gold towards a vermilion as he realized what he was trying to do.

"_Hell_ no," the P.I said, eyes burning fiercely as he resisted the shove Sam gave him, "I'm staying with you."

"Gabe, no," Sam hissed, pushing him again, "I've got to take care of them-"

"You're coming with me! No hero antics today, Winchester!" Gabe exclaimed, grabbing his hand and attempting to drag him down the alley. His face was flushed from exertion and he was panting heavily, but his aura showed his clear intent to keep on running with him.

_Dammit._

Sam didn't have time to convince Gabe, and they both knew it. If they weren't in such a dangerous situation, he would've been impressed by the P. I's stubbornness.

He gave in reluctantly so the Dead Eyes wouldn't gain any more ground on them, kicking and knocking anything he could reach as he let Gabe lead them down the alley.

"Gabe, I can handle them!" he attempted to explain, but the P.I was unswayable.

"No, Sam. You don't always have to-"

Whatever he was going to say was cut off by a high-pitched yelp behind them. Sam could sense one of the auras meet the ground with the thud of a body and felt a sense of satisfaction at having taken at least one of them down temporarily.

He glanced back in time to see the other two stumble over their downed friend and fall as well before Gabe dragged them around the corner.

_But they're not out for the count yet. They'll get back up._

"This way," he said, and the chase went on.

Everything blurred around them until it was just their short breaths misting in front of them and the pounding of feet. Gabe's aura was like light compared to the cluster of murky auras behind them, a constant reminder that Sam had an extra person to account for now.

Dean may have been the better one when it came to the physical aspects of their old training and was more than capable of coming up with creative plans on his toes, but Sam had always been the crafty, unconventional thinker. Gabe was too stubborn to let him take care of the Dead Eyes, and more pressingly, he was running out of steam. He couldn't keep up this crazy pace for much longer, which meant they needed a hiding spot.

Sam knew of many throughout the city. He also knew that hiding out from someone during a chase was tough, but he'd always been good at it. If he could manage to slip away from I-have-super-senses Dean in their youth, then it would be simple to hide from a trio of strung out gangsters.

Location and timing were key in this situation. Maneuvering with Gabe would be a little trickier than what he was used to, but Sam was in full training mode now. Thoughts were moving a mile a minute through his head as they ran, remembering hiding spots and tossing them aside just as fast for whatever reason; too far away or too small or too obvious.

Only one option remained after sorting through all the rest; an old abandoned building with deep alcoves along the sides. Sam vaguely remembered hiding successfully from Dean in one of them and knew it'd be big enough to hide both him and Gabe now.

The building still stood, and without any hesitation, he led them down the alley that ran along its side. There was scaffolding all along the side of it (so not so abandoned any longer), but no one was in sight, and even better, one of the alcoves was partially covered by sheets of plastic thick enough to obscure them.

_Jackpot._

Gabe yelped in surprise as Sam dragged him through the scaffolding and past the plastic, nearly tripping in the process.

"Sam-"

The Winchester quickly clapped his hand over Gabe's mouth as he pressed him up against the doorway set into the alcove. He raised his free arm to box the P.I in even further, essentially hiding any sign of him from the alley.

"Quiet, and _don't move_," he whispered, all of his senses on high alert as he waited for the Dead Eyes to enter the alley and realize that they'd seemingly vanished.

Gabe's harsh breaths from running instantly quieted a bit, trying to match Sam's now measured breaths. His gold eyes were wide and bright in the shadowy alcove, but surprisingly steady and free from panic. It was as if Gabe trusted him, and Sam blinked before realizing that he did.

Sam took away his hand carefully, and Gabe's lips quirked in a brief smile. He stayed quiet though, hands reaching to grip his jacket and tug him even closer until they were lined up completely, chest to chest.

Every chill the sharp air brought was chased back by Gabe's aura, and Sam thought he'd die from how good it felt. He was glad the alcove was shadowy enough to hide his burning face because he wasn't sure what he'd do if Gabe noticed.

_I should've fought the Dead Eyes when I had the chance._

"Where did they go?"

The pullback to the present was jarring, and Sam hurriedly looked away from Gabe's eyes as he strained his ears to listen.

"Dammit, I _told_ you they ran down the other alley!"

"No, I _know_ I saw them run into this one."

Three auras were approaching. At this distance, he could sense that he was right about one of them being off their rocker on drugs; their aura was wobbly and contorted in the grip of it. Whatever they'd taken, it was much stronger than weed or even prescription pills.

"Damnit, Kyle isn't going to like this," one of them whined, their feet shuffling closer. It sounded like the youngest one; he had to be fresh out of high school if he had even graduated to begin with.

"Kyle doesn't need to find out about this," a deeper voice replied. It was the meaner one; Sam was sure of it, "Think about it for a second Finn! All we had to do was get the weekly money from Rosco. The coppers or detectives or whoever the fuck they were don't factor into it that at all. We can just get the money from Rosco and pretend this never happened."

"But-"

"Shut up, both of you!" the third one ordered. The voice matched up to the contorted aura, and Sam focused more on him as a result. He was getting too close to their hiding spot for his comfort.

Gabe shifted slightly beneath him as footsteps approached the plastic sheeting, and Sam moved a hand down to grip the juncture where his neck and shoulder met in a signal to keep still.

"I don't know how I know, but I _know_ those guys were important somehow," the voice said, "Reynold was killed weeks ago, so why were they there, huh? Maybe they were, what do you call 'em, private investigators or something."

Sam didn't like how sharp the one on drugs was, or how persistent he was being about hunting them down. Why didn't he just let it go like the other two were trying to do?

Gabe's aura wasn't doing any favors to help his concentration. This was probably the closest they'd ever been save for their hugs, not to mention the longest period of close contact, and it was getting to Sam. A pleasant sense of lightheadedness was beginning to fog up his senses, trying to draw his attention to all the warmth and gold that he was inches away from.

_Focus, Winchester. Now is _not_ the time to get distracted!_

"It's just that junk getting to your head," the mean one snarked, but underneath his tone was a trace of wariness, "I told you that demon blood wasn't any good."

Gabe gripped his shirt, and Sam had to try very hard to keep still as his fingers seemed to burn straight through his shirt and into his skin. At this rate, his nerves would be fried before the Dead Eyes left.

_Good to know the Dead Eyes are sampling the new product though._

"Shut up Jay, it helps me think!"

"It made me feel funny," the younger one, Finn, muttered, so low that the Winchester hardly heard him, "I took it when we burned that place down Saturday night to get me loosened up, and I don't remember half of what I did!"

_The Roadhouse._

A sudden surge of anger made Sam want to throw himself out from the alcove and get the Dead Eyes because some of the bastards were _right there_. He could take them right now with the element of surprise on his side and his skills with a pocketknife. He'd been carrying it ever since the library and could feel its weight in his pocket.

Hands suddenly gripped the sides of his face and pulled, forcing him to look down at Gabe. The P.I's eyes were wide and fierce as he tugged him down close enough for their noses to bump.

"Sam, _don't_."

Forget what he'd said before about their proximity, _this_ was the closest he'd ever been to Gabe.

The sudden urge to focus completely on Gabe warred with all the anger and injustice of the situation clouding his head (they were _right there_). There was Gabe's aura, and the Dead Eyes that helped burn down the Roadhouse, and he had to pick one to focus on.

"We'll get them another day," Gabe whispered, his breath warm against Sam's face in a way that made him want to lean in even closer, "Listen to me. Put the knife away. Now isn't the time."

Sam barely realized that he had pulled the pocketknife from his pocket. It felt right in his hand, but as Gabe's aura coasted along his tense muscles and seeped into his cheeks from his hands, that rightness was slowly being replaced with a different set of thoughts.

_I can't get the Dead Eyes now; these guys are only a small part of the group that burned the Roadhouse down. Gabe's right; it'll have to wait another day._

Letting the Dead Eyes get away rubbed Sam the wrong way and went against every bit of training he'd received, but he'd chosen to trust Gabe, and that took precedence over what he'd been taught as a Winchester.

Sam tucked the knife away, leaned his forehead against Gabe's in a silent gesture of understanding and thanks, before pulling away and refocusing on the Dead Eyes.

"You better be careful Nolan," Jay said, and now the wariness had taken over all the snark, "I've heard bad things happen to the people that take that stuff."

"I _know_ what I'm doing," Nolan growled, and Sam instinctively pressed forward against Gabe just the slightest as the drugged-up aura twisted viciously in on itself and turned a shade darker.

The other two fell silent, auras shrinking back. Gabe tried to peek around his shoulder, but Sam shook his head minutely and bent down to whisper in his ear.

"Don't. Just stay still."

"Sam…" Gabe breathed; voice even quieter than his. He didn't think he'd ever heard the P.I sound so quiet before, "He's getting closer."

The silhouette through the plastic sheeting darkened, getting so close that Sam was half tempted to abandon all pretense of hiding and pull out his pocketknife again.

Gabe's aura began to go haywire with shades of protective white as the man got close enough that they could see the outline of his body. He thought he could see the P.I presumably reach for a gun, but he hadn't had his holster on him, had he?

Sam carefully inched a hand down to his jacket pocket. The knife was there, and while he was out of practice, he knew that it'd all come back to him.

_Just like riding a bike, except the bike is how to incapacitate three men with as minimal injury and maximum efficiency as possible._

"Why don't we just get out of here and call it a day? Those coppers have probably called friends, which isn't good for us," Finn asked with a nervous chuckle, unknowingly breaking the tense moment.

On the other side of the plastic, the man paused in his slow approach.

_One step closer, and I'll do it, _Sam thought with a certainty in himself he hadn't had in a long time.

"Right," Nolan said, sounding as if he was testing the idea out, "The cops are probably on the way, so we shouldn't be here."

"_Exactly_," the mean one, Jay, said. He sounded very eager to convince Nolan, and Sam couldn't blame him. The man's aura was disgusting to behold, and Nolan seemed like he would be even worse when he wasn't high, "Let's get out of here, hit up some of our _other_ cash cows, and then get high! I know where we can get some demon blood from."

Nolan's aura perked up at that. It was clear he was completely addicted to demon blood if he was ditching the unwavering determination he'd had earlier to chase them for the possibility of renewing his high.

"Good plan," he said, already sounding lighter and more jovial, "_Very_ good plan, Jay. You might just prove yourself worthy of a promotion at this rate."

One aura turned happy and another turned resigned; Jay and Finn respectively. They were further away from their hiding spot and lead the way out of the alley, with their leader close on their heels.

For a long moment, neither Sam nor Gabe moved. Sam because he was waiting for the auras to move out of range, and therefore a respectable distance from them, and Gabe because it seemed he was having trouble processing what had just happened. His aura was turning funny shades of white and vermilion, cycling rapidly as he continued to cling to Sam's shirt.

Sam frowned for a moment at the strange colors, trying to pin down what the P.I could possibly be feeling. He thought Gabe's aura would turn into those white wings he'd seen before for a moment there when they'd been close to being discovered, and while the sight of them was incredible, he had no idea how to feel about the strong urge to protect they gave off.

"You OK?"

"Relatively speaking, yes," Gabe responded before suddenly scowling and shoving at his chest.

Sam didn't budge much, but the move was still unexpected and combined with Gabe's tumultuous aura, only added to his confusion.

"What was _that_ for?"

"For trying to get yourself killed! What were you thinking, trying to fight those guys?" Gabe asked, throwing his hands into the air.

"Because they burned down the Roadhouse, and I knew I could handle them! C'mon Gabe, I thought I already proved myself to you when it came to being able to defend us-_myself_," Sam said, tugging his fringe as he quickly corrected himself.

Gabe's eyes narrowed, and the Winchester knew that his slip of the tongue hadn't gotten past the ever-perceptive P.I.

_He won't take too kindly to it either, _Sam thought with a wince as Gabe's aura grew even more conflicted, _Gabe's so independent and self-reliant that he'd probably see it as me thinking he's weak._

Sam braced himself for the worst (an angry tirade from the P.I wouldn't be pleasant) but was thrown for a loop when Gabe suddenly slumped and sighed heavily. His aura shifted more towards a pinker hue, turning rose gold as he reached out to snag one of his sleeves.

"You just…it shouldn't be your first instinct to put yourself in danger and be all self-sacrificing and stuff," Gabe said, voice low as he wrapped his fingers around his wrist, "It's hard to keep you safe if you're actively trying to get yourself into all sorts of trouble!"

_Keep _me_ safe?_

Sam was flustered by the thought because he'd never really thought it was anyone's job to keep him safe besides John and Dean. It was his job, or rather, what he'd _thought_ been his job until he'd gone to college, to keep others safe, and old habits were hard to kick.

"But I can-"

"I _know_ you can," Gabe interrupted, gold eyes uncharacteristically stern, "That doesn't mean you have to. I'm the one with the official credentials that let me do this for a living, kiddo. If something happened to you on an escapade like this, not only would I never forgive myself, but we could also get in a shit ton of trouble."

Sam could understand the point Gabe was making; if anyone could understand how legally gray their current efforts to solve the case were, it'd be him (i.e. fighting the Dead Eyes with a pocketknife). However, it'd take him some time to really process the idea that Gabe was also a person that could keep him safe. It was one thing to rely on him throughout the course of the case and come to trust him, but to openly acknowledge that Gabe could?

_If anyone could, it would be him. At the very least, he _wants_ to protect me with those wings of his. But I can protect both of us just fine._

His internal conflict must've played across his face, because Gabe smiled softly, if a bit sadly, and squeezed his wrist.

"Just think about it. I know it's a mind-blowing concept, but I promise it has merit," he said, eyes bright with the mischievous look Sam now attributed solely to Gabe.

"_Fine_," he sighed, both to assuage Gabe and to cover up the fact that he was still hyperaware of how close they were right now.

Gabe didn't seem to have any issue with their close proximity at all, save for the pinks in his aura. Now that Sam wasn't being a bonehead, he could see that the P.I was enjoying it, but before he could figure out how to act on that information, Gabe slipped past him and past the plastic.

"You can think about my wise words of wisdom on the way back," he called out, "I hope you know where we're going because I certainly don't!"

Sam stared dumbly at the space Gabe had just been in for a moment before shaking his head with a small laugh. He had to admit it was probably for the best that they left now. There was _way_ too much spinning through his head for the moment to have lasted longer.

He still couldn't help but regret it a little when he stepped out because, for more than a few moments there, Sam thought he could've finally closed the distance between them.

…

The rest of Sam's day was largely uneventful. He finished his afternoon classes and in what felt like a rare moment of peace, actually managed to focus on his work with minimal distractions. By the time he got on the subway to make his way home, Sam's spirits were high, and he was ready to write the day off as a success, if a confusing one due to his earlier experience with Gabe. The P.I hadn't said a single word about how close they'd been and had acted fairly normal, so Sam had let it go.

Regardless, Sam felt that something had changed between them, and for the better. Today had been riddled with almost there moments with Gabe (he'd nearly acted on a particular impulse at Starbucks) and he knew that the P.I had to have picked up on some of them, and on some things that he _shouldn't_ have.

Sam wasn't sure how, but he was beginning to suspect that Gabe knew there was something more to him. He didn't think the P.I knew any specifics, but for a moment back at Jumpstart Café, it seemed as if Gabe knew he had this strange supervision.

That ultimately scared Sam more than anything else, because he'd never told _anyone_ what he could see except for Dean, and the consequences of such a secret getting out could be catastrophic for him. He'd almost told Jess after all, and Sam was eternally grateful that he didn't, because if he had…

Sam shivered. That wouldn't have ended well for him at all.

"Next stop: East Center. Please be ready to depart as the train pulls in…"

Auras shifted in tandem towards anticipation at the announcement, the subtle rippling alerting Sam that his stop was approaching. The subway may have been a headache to endure, but at least all the extra auras were good for _something_.

The ball was in Gabe's court now. Sam would just have to wait and see how it all played out from here, but he thought he was getting the hang of this strange relationship limbo zone.

Kevin was on his way out when Sam finally got him, but if the textbooks were any indication, he wasn't going to any parties, which was good. While he could admire Kevin's valiant attempts at keeping people from joining gangs, it was still too dangerous for him out there when the Dead Eyes could still be mad at him.

"Study session?" Sam asked, just to make sure.

"Yup, Adam is having an academic emergency of epic proportions. Don't wait up," Kevin responded, to which the Winchester snorted.

"I'm not your dad, but if you're going to stay for the night then-"

"_Sam_!"

The Winchester dodged the sudden slew of winter clothing items being thrown at him with a chuckle (Kevin could have good aim when he wanted to), raising his hands defensively.

"I'm _just_ _saying_…"

"Sam Winchester, you're a menace!" Kevin exclaimed, but a wide grin spoiled the effect of his words. They both knew Sam was just horsing around, and after making sure Kevin got everything back so he could brave the cold, he sent his friend on his way.

The apartment felt unnaturally quiet, making Sam feel almost awkward. Usually, there was always some sort of commotion, with either Ben playing in the living room or Kevin calling someone or playing video games, but now it was just…_quiet_.

He'd never really lingered in his own apartment before, what with the Roadhouse and school, but Sam never thought the sense of feeling like a stranger would be this bad. When was the last time he'd actually _been_ here for an extended period of time besides passing out on his bed? Even worse, when was the last time he'd actually done something like watch a movie or play a video game? Surely the dust on his console was just a figment of his imagination.

_Right now, I'd be knee-deep in dishes and coffee, not loitering around as if I've never seen the place before._

With a sigh, Sam stepped into the kitchen. He could reacquaint himself with the place later; first, he needed food, and then…

Talk to someone, maybe? He's spoken to Dean on Sunday, and while he'd settled things more or less with his brother, he knew that they'd need a one to one to really hammer things out. They had drifted a bit from each other ever since he started college, and while a lot of it had to do with the circumstances surrounding his original departure from home, he had to admit some of it stemmed from him being stubborn.

Dean may be caught in between him and John, but that didn't mean he was 100% on John's side. He'd reached out to Sam constantly after the original fight to end all fights, and while some of those times he played devil's advocate for John, most times he just wanted to make sure he was alright.

At the end of the day, Dean was still his older brother, so maybe he should focus on that more than how Dean felt about their father.

_I'll talk to him after I eat, _Sam thought decisively as his stomach growled, _I have to talk to him about the sleepwalking anyway._

The idea of discussing the sleepwalking with Dean made Sam feel more than a little worried. Dean would try to put him on lockdown faster than he could say 'The Winchester family business', and Sam frankly didn't have the time for such measures. And when he learned _Ben_ was having issues as well?

Sam winced as he opened the fridge. Dean was many things and believed he was horrible at many other things, but no one could say he was a bad father. He truly cared for Ben, and he knew as long as he and Ben had this strange sleepwalking/prophetic dream issue that Dean would be keeping both his eyes glued to them.

A stale scent Sam had long come to associate with bad leftovers greeted him, and he wrinkled his nose as he peered through the shelves for the culprit.

"Dammit Kevin," he sighed as he spotted the half-open container towards the back, "How many times do I-"

Pain erupted through his head, so quick and blinding that Sam barely had time to stagger backward before the vague smell of leftovers changed to something more intense. It was as if he was suddenly standing in front of an open dumpster or somewhere-

…

Dim. Damp. There was a green-gray cast to his surroundings, which were suddenly made out of cold concrete and grimy blocks. Pipes lined the walls up above in different sizes and shapes, rusting in places and dripping in others. In the distance, Sam could hear the rush of water, and the smell suddenly clicked in his mind.

Sewage.

For whatever reason, the vision (It couldn't be sleepwalking if he hadn't fallen asleep, right?) had transported him here, and judging by the faint traces of black aura he could sense stuck to the shadows, Sam was going to run across Death again.

_Great, _he thought as he took in his new environment as quickly as he could, _All I wanted was to have some dinner, and _this_ is how the universe decides to treat me._

To make matters even worse, he was eleven once more, a quickly forming common denominator that Sam wasn't sure he liked very much now that he'd been thrown into what felt like the lion's den.

A doorway was up ahead, forming a sharp rectangle of muted light at the end of the long hallway. Sam could see the dark aura trail seep from it in the form of low-lying fog, just like it had at Cork's crime scene.

"Only way to go," he muttered to himself. The way behind him was dark and formless, and besides, he needed to see if this vision could provide any useful information on Death.

Approaching the doorway stealthily was easy as long as Sam didn't think of all the horrible things that could possibly await him. The killer's aura was a truly awful, evil thing, and he'd seen how it could morph into whatever shape it wanted, whether it be a mass of shadowy tentacles or a hulking, humanoid monster. If Death could somehow sense he was coming, he was screwed.

_Winchesters don't run. Winchesters don't run. Winchesters don't run…_

Sam took a quiet but fortifying breath as he came up to the doorway before carefully peeking beyond the frame.

No monstrous aura. No hooded figure. Just a decrepit, but ultimately empty room.

It seemed almost too good to be true, but Sam was too relieved to really care. He took back every bad thing he'd thought about how the universe liked to treat him as he stepped in and began to try and figure out just what this place was to Death.

At first glance, it seemed like an unofficial headquarters. There was a long wooden table pushed up against the wall opposite the doorway, containing everything from books and papers to a very foreboding set of knives carefully laid out in an unwrapped leather case. On the wall above the table, a collection of maps, newspaper articles, pictures, and etc. covered the wall, linked together by plain twine, thumbtacks, and even a knife or two in some places. Sam would have to get closer to see specifics, but the red paint (and he hoped it was just paint) that overlapped some of it gave him more concern.

Enochian covered bits of the board here and there, the runes dripping in some places where it'd been written too thickly. Sam had seen it enough to recognize the language, but he didn't think he'd ever seen the runes…_move_ that way before.

He didn't have a history with Enochian, or at least, he didn't _think_ he did. He certainly didn't know it like Cas and apparently Gabe did, but the language had always given a strange vibe throughout the case. Whether it be through its ancient and shrouded history or some sense of unease at the crime scenes, Sam knew that it wasn't just a randomly picked language.

Looking at it now though, he thought he could truly understand _why_ it was so important to Death. They seemed to pulse with a life of their own, moving just enough for Sam to see. Bits of the runes began to move, as if they were trying to rearrange themselves in a way that he could understand, but watching the process made his head hurt, and the Enochian didn't seem to be having much success.

Sam had to exert a lot more willpower than he'd expected to tear his eyes away from the runes. His head cleared, and the Enochian stopped pulsing, going back to their perfectly average, if creepy, state of being.

"That totally wasn't weird," he muttered, eyeing the wall warily before deciding that looking at the rest of the room would be better than trying to get closer to _that_ mess, "First sleepwalking and visions, and now the Enochian."

Maybe it was just the nature of the dream/vision. After all, he'd seen far stranger things in them before. Deep down, Sam didn't think it was that coincidental, but he could always entertain the possibility.

The rest of the room was about normal in comparison to the giant board of insanity. There was a narrow cot pushed up against the far wall, just past the large table, and a few bags placed at the end of it. A large vent sat above the cot, rattling as it forced new stale air in, and a small bookshelf across the room that contained canned food and drinks. Light came in the form of flickering fluorescent lights overhead and to Sam's horror, a few heavily used black candles that scattered the room.

His horror mounted when he spotted a trapdoor in the corner of the room, nearly hidden by its similar coloring to the floor. Ominous enough on its own, it proved even more foreboding when Sam noticed that the dark fog was seeping out from the trapdoor like some perverted form of dry gas.

_If the shit out _here_ creeps me out, there's no telling what the hell is down _there_._

Trapdoor, or Enochian? Sam suddenly found himself eager to pay more attention to Death's giant gameboard behind him and shuffled back towards the desk. He kept a wary eye on the trapdoor though, promising himself not to let anything sneak up on him from behind.

The sheer amount of information on the board was enough to draw most of Sam's attention. Separating the crazy ramblings of a demented mind from the gold mine of clues he knew were somewhere on the board would be a challenge, but Sam was confident he could glean something. If he could just bring at least one piece of new information to the investigation…

There was a map of LU and around it more detailed maps of specific buildings. Sam could recognize the WM library, the largest dorm building, and the largest academic buildings before his eyes followed the twine strings to new information. He had to crane his neck to look at the very highest reaches of the board due to his sudden lack of height, which was annoying, but the annoyance faded away as he lost himself in the information before him.

A picture of Wilkes, Olsen, and Hoffman was connected to the library. Wilkes' face had been completely scribbled over with Sharpie, but the other two were clear. A picture of Reynold was connected both to the academic building map and, after following the string down, to a picture of Jumpstart Café from the outside.

_His victims and the places they're connected to. I find more pictures; I can see who's in his line of sight._

Sam's fingers traced the string in mid-air as he moved down the board, attempting to locate more pictures. It was hard, as the pictures were small, and many papers overlapped each other on the board, not to mention all the other things that were distracting him.

Pictures of Enochian graffiti and what looked like shots of gang members taken from afar littered the board profusely. Articles on rising gang activity and drug busts. A map of the western side of Lawrence, with Kingsford street emphasized and thumbtacks marking numerous locations past it. Phrases scribbled in English that overlapped all of it.

_MAKE THEM PURE. CLEANSING RITUALS. EYE FOR AN EYE. ANGELS WILL FALL. HELL IS ON THE MOVE. PURIFY THE KNIVES. PURIFY THE CENTER OF KNOWLEDGE. WING FOR A WING._

Sam hoped he could remember all of this once he snapped out of the vision because he'd hit the jackpot.

He found Cork's picture amongst the mess, but instead of following the string, Sam's eyes skipped over a few inches to find a group picture with certain people's faces circled. Cork wasn't connected to this, but there were three bits of twine that stretched from the group picture.

Sam leaned in closer, hoping he could determine at least _where_ the photo had been taken and felt his mouth go dry when he saw the sign for 'Southview High' just behind the last row of people.

_Southview, where Mitchell was killed there. This is a faculty picture._

Just as Sam's eyes began to skim up the twine strings to see who the next potential target might be, he heard the creak of metal hinges behind him.

The half-faded dark fog around his ankles suddenly darkened, and Sam whipped around to see the trapdoor slowly opening. Waves of darkness poured out like ink, spilling out into the room with a faint hiss onto the floor.

More poured out, faster and faster as a ladder creaked somewhere below. Sam was only frozen for a moment by the sudden upsurge of malice before he gathered his wits and forced himself to move towards the door.

The fog thickened and turned into lashing tentacles that tried to slither towards him, but Sam shook them off as he burst through the doorway. The tunnel that had been shadowed before suddenly ended in a brilliant burst of white light, shining like a beacon in comparison to the danger behind him.

Sam barely had time to register the irony of what was before him (light at the end of the tunnel? Really?), before he ran straight into it.

A loud buzzing filled his ears, racing across his skin and sending zinging sparks flying from his fingers. Everything burned white in his sight as his chest grew hot, and Sam thought if he listened closely, the buzz sounded almost like-

…

His phone. Sam was back in his kitchen, standing in front of the counter, with the to-do notepad usually stuck the fridge to his right and his phone vibrating to the left. Dean's face lit up on the screen for a moment longer before his phone stopped vibrating.

Sam exhaled sharply, shaking his tender head carefully as he pinched the bridge of his nose. The vision had ended, but he could still feel the phantom sensation of dirty fog caressing his ankles, and smell the stench of sewage.

_It's over now. You're back in the kitchen, and you didn't even do anything weird like try to drown yourself in the bathtub._

"That's always a plus," he muttered to himself, before looking down at the notepad.

Messy, but clearly identifiable Enochian looked back, scribbled down with no regard whatsoever to the lines. The only word in English was at the very bottom, written hard enough to tear through the paper.

OLSEN.

_It's no bathtub, but this definitely falls under weird._

Sam's phone began to vibrate again, and he picked it up in a bit of a daze as he continued to stare at the Enochian.

"Sammy? Where the hell have you been? I've been trying to reach you, and Lisa's been telling me-"

"I know," Sam said simply, picking up the notepad. He noted that he'd lost about half an hour of time in the vision, but his mind was more preoccupied with the fact that the Enochian seemed to be moving again on the paper.

"…Sammy? Are you OK?"

The runes were definitely trying to rearrange themselves, and Sam tilted his head to follow the motion.

"Not really," he replied honestly, "We need to talk."

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE

This chapter... I honestly don't even have words. I rewrote the chase scene alone 4 times because it didn't feel right, but here we are.

I've graduated high school, thank the stars. Since my last update, life has been hectic, but things are in limbo right now with summer. Hopefully, I can get some more writing done.

Also, for Lost in the Wind, who asked about Sam's aura! I can give a partial answer in that yes, he doesn't see his own aura, but the reasons will be delved into later. He never says it in the story, but it's implied through the lack of its mention. If anyone has any questions, you can always review!


	6. Pepper Spray

**Chapter 6- Pepper Spray**

The speed with which Dean arrived would've caught Sam off guard if he hadn't already resigned himself to a long night of being coddled by his brother. However, since he was familiar with his brother's ways, he just sat back and tried to prepare as best he could mentally. When their special knock (once slow, twice fast) resounded on the door 10 minutes later, Sam simply sighed and stood to let Dean in.

He had to admit, he hadn't been expecting Castiel to be on his brother's heels when he opened the door, but as Dean descended upon him in a frantic wave of big brother worry, Sam realized he would be an idiot to think otherwise. They'd probably been glued to the hip ever since the Dead Eyes broke into Cas' apartment, and if Dean was this worked up about him, there was no way he'd leave Cas by himself anywhere right now.

"What happened? Are you alright?" Dean asked, eyes scanning him critically for any sign on injury even though Sam had already clarified on the phone that he was fine.

"Really Dean, there's no need to smother him," Cas admonished before shutting the door and nudging them back towards the living room, "At _least_ let him sit on the couch. Hello, Sam."

"Hi, Cas," Sam said, amused at the man's ever-practical nature. Cas' aura was like a calm ocean compared to Dean's frenzied, worried one, "How's life?"

"Fairly interesting," he replied as Dean practically pushed him back onto the couch (just lie down Sammy!), "You know, there's never a dull day with your brother."

"I bet," Sam commented dryly, "Dean, I'm not _sick_."

He batted his brother's hand away from his forehead, and Dean clicked his tongue before frowning. There was a new array of fading bruises on his face, and with his frown, he brought attention to a sore spot on his forehead.

_Typical Dean. Always concerned about others and ignoring the fact that he walks around as one giant bruise._

"You look like it," Dean said bluntly, "When's the last time you ate?"

"Uh, I was _going_ to eat, but you know…stuff happened," he replied, gesturing vaguely to the kitchen.

Dean got a 'you're-concerning-me-with-your-idiocy' look and opened his mouth to no doubt berate him in a brotherly manner over it, but before he could, Cas clamped a hand on his shoulder.

"Let Sam tell us what happened," he suggested, sending cerulean pulses down Dean's arm in a subconscious effort to soothe him, "I'm sure he's ready to inform you about everything as long as you're willing to let him speak."

Shades of teal formed along Dean's arm, forming so quickly that it couldn't be the first occurrence of its kind.

Dean grunted, face pinching in thought. Surprisingly, he didn't shrug off Cas' lingering hand, which was mind-boggling in itself. Dean's tolerance of touch like that was on par, if not even lower, than his own.

Sam watched patiently, and also a little nervously as his brother puzzled through the Enochian expert's words. He had expected to be bombarded by unnecessary and overbearing attention as soon as Dean walked in, and for the foreseeable future. Sam knew his brother meant well, and in their youth, it had even been something he'd relied on him for, but Sam wasn't a kid anymore. He could take care of himself, and he didn't want Dean to drop everything to tend to him like he was an invalid.

Cas' presence changed all that though. He was acting as an anchor for Dean, and while his brother was still in overprotective big brother mode, Cas was taking the edge off it. Cas could be overly blunt and a little awkward, but his steadiness and well-placed words were doing wonders right now. Sam would be forever grateful to him for it, but he was now navigating unknown territory. Before, Sam knew how much Dean would try and butt into his life, but now?

_It's like trying to predict how strong a hurricane will be by raising a flag in midst of the storm._

"You'll tell me everything?" Dean finally asked, green eyes slightly narrowed as he crossed his arms. In John's old leather jacket, he cut an imposing figure, but Sam knew better than to be intimidated by the tough pose. He'd watched Dean practice looking badass in the mirror too much for it to work on him.

He sighed regardless as he took in the worried, frantic green aura battling against the calming blue. Dean's worry was more than evident, and quite frankly, Sam was tired. He couldn't work this out on his own anymore, and while a part of him chafed at what felt like giving in, a larger part of him was relieved that he could _finally_ tell his brother.

Sam suddenly felt like a little kid again as his shoulders slumped. For better or worse, Dean had always been there for him. They weren't on as close terms as they'd once been, but he was here now, wasn't he?

_Maybe just this once I can let Dean take over for a bit._

"Yeah. I'll tell you everything."

Something in his voice must've given away his current mindset because Dean's aura quickly went from overwhelming concern to big brother determination. The green rose up and condensed into something more normal, but also steelier; a carefully controlled supernova of color. It was Dean's 'I'm-in-charge-now' setting, and it showed as he got Sam up off the couch.

"Cas, can you wait out here? I'm going to talk to Sammy," he said, sounding normal and even a bit pleasant. The hard undertone to his voice left no question in anyone's mind though that he wasn't really asking, but _telling_.

"Of course," Cas said slowly. Part of his aura turned into an odd, electric shade of blue, but settled as he sat on the couch. He'd processed the fact that he'd been ordered, and didn't know how to feel about it, but he trusted Dean.

"Good. Come on, Sammy," Dean said, voice falling into more gentle tones as he steered them toward his room.

Sam went willingly, a wave of exhaustion causing him to shuffle along. Sitting with Dean would be nice; almost like the old times, and as they sat side by side on his bed, Sam could almost imagine they were back home.

_Wait…home? _

Sam frowned. He hadn't thought of the tiny house on the edge of Lawrence as home in a while. A long time ago he had, when motel-jumping was still fresh in his mind and he'd still known John and Dean to be the two people that would always be there for him, but not anymore, so why…

Dean's aura swirled with every shade of green imaginable, but ultimately familiar to him as he turned on the lamp, and Sam realized while he felt nostalgic.

"It's been a while," his brother said, closing the door softly and toeing off his boots. He somehow managed to vocalize what had been on Sam's mind, and he didn't even have the ability to see auras to help him.

Yellow lamp light softened everything at the edges, making Sam's cramped room feel cozy. Dean took off his jacket and casually tossed it over his chair before removing a gun from the small of his back, setting it down carefully on his desk.

The gun was only the first weapon though. Sam watched as Dean disarmed himself completely, the most solemn sign of trust his brother knew how to give. Besides hooking up with people, Dean was never without at least one weapon on his person, and in even those situations, he always had something nearby. Everything was on his desk though, as far away as one could get from Sam's bed.

Something caught Sam's eye, and he questioned it as Dean set it down on the desk.

"Is that…pepper spray?"

He'd _never_ known Dean to carry pepper spray, much less in an electric blue canister designed to go on a keychain. They had been trained to fight with just about anything and everything imaginable, and pepper spray had never been on the list (save for the one instance John had been caught in a side blast of the stuff while taking someone down). Pepper spray was for civilians, not Winchesters!

Dean blinked down at the pepper spray before his lips quirked, a bit of pink coloring his cheeks as his aura turned a _very_ interesting shade of brilliant verdant.

"Uh, Cas gave it to me," he said, scratching the back of his neck bashfully, "He said-well, he thought I could use it against the Dead Eyes after this one-why are you _laughing_?"

Sam couldn't help it. The mental image of Dean Winchester, underground fighting champion and the most dangerous man in Lawrence, wielding a bright blue can of pepper spray against a bunch of gangsters, was too much for him to bear.

"It's-_pepper spray_!" he exclaimed, falling onto his side as he laughed out what felt like a week's worth of stress.

Dean's lips twitched in a valiant effort to hold back his amusement, but he quickly dissolved into chuckles.

"You wanna know something even funnier about it?"

Sam struggled to get himself together and sat back up with a wheeze. Dean held up the canister and twirled it around, his grin bright and mischievous.

"I actually did use it last week on someone that tried to rob us when we ate out on the west side."

There was a moment of quiet disbelief from Sam before he erupted into a fresh batch of laughter.

"No _way_. What did Cas have to say to that?" he managed to ask as Dean sat down beside him.

His brother shook his head with an eye-crinkling smile before pitching his voice down in an attempt to mimic Cas' gruff voice.

"'I'm glad you utilized my gift to its fullest advantage, Dean. There's no need to use a knife in every conflict.'"

The replication was poor, but it sounded 100% like something Cas would say. They laughed for a few minutes over the anecdote in a way that only people close to each other can, with a single look from the other triggering a new round of laughter. The atmosphere only grew serious once more when they calmed down.

It wasn't an overwhelming sense of seriousness; Sam had relaxed enough that the following conversation wouldn't be as horrible as it could've been. He was glad Dean had gotten him to laugh because spilling the beans would be much easier.

Sam started with the very first time he'd sleepwalked, going through his dreams and even the visions he'd had. It was the first time he'd told anyone of their prophetic nature (besides Ben of course), but Dean took it in as much stride as one could. Sam knew it helped that Dean had long known of his ability to see auras and had his own abnormal strength to contend with. While he got stuck on a few aspects of the visions, he largely accepted their validity. It'd be hard _not_ to after something like the vision he'd had of Wilkes.

Telling of Ben's similar issues went much more hesitantly. Sam wasn't sure how Dean would take it, but it was…better than he anticipated. Apparently Lisa had filled him in on Ben's 'night terrors' earlier that day, so it wasn't _too_ big a shock, but learning your son was having premonitions naturally didn't sit well with Dean.

Sam's voice got a bit raspy, but he managed to wrap it all up. By the end, they'd fallen back onto the mattress, legs hanging over the edge as they stared up at the ceiling. It was an echo of the position they'd always taken in childhood; side by side and eyes upward to look at nothing.

"Do you know if…if he sees bad stuff?"

Dean's voice was rough, aura tumultuous with the colors he only got when he was feeling particularly paternal.

Sam's insides twisted in a reflection of his brother's mood. He'd only given it a passing thought at the time, as he'd been too busy and stressed to contemplate the true implications of Ben having visions. Now all he could think of was the fire that must've plagued Ben in his dreams, and the confusion he must've felt waking up surrounded by cold tile in a bathroom.

_Ben's only 4. He doesn't _deserve_ any of this._

"I hope not," he said quietly, "I love him like he's my own."

Sam's eyes remained fixed on the ceiling as he spoke. He wasn't sure why he'd said that last part (stupid, _stupid_ Sam), but it had slipped out before he could stop himself, and now they were out in the open.

_I do love him, _he thought firmly, though the certainty wavered as his old concerns about Ben's potentially misplaced affections for him surfaced.

The mattress creaked, and Sam could sense that Dean had shifted to his side. He glanced over to see Dean with the oddest expression on his face as if he were both confused and exasperated. It was a far cry from the anger he'd been expecting, but he stayed tense just in case the other shoe decided to drop.

"Of course you do," he said, "I'm not an idiot Sammy. You wear your heart a little more on your sleeve than I do, and Ben's got a lot of love to give. As Lisa likes to remind me time and time again, you're both similar enough that it's obvious you two would bond."

He poked Sam in the chest gently, "But that's what you're _supposed_ to do dumbass. If anything happens to me-"

"_Dean_-"

"No, listen to me," Dean said firmly, grasping his shoulder as he tried to roll over and block out any of _that_ talk (Dean lead a risky life that worried him enough as it was; Sam hated discussion of dying), "If anything happens to me, I know that you'll take care of him. I don't want Lisa to do it on her own, and I can rest easy knowing that you'll step up."

Sam picked at a loose thread on his comforter, focusing resolutely on it as he tried not to let his emotions slip. He didn't want to start doing anything dumb like _cry_, but it was such a _relief_ to know that he wasn't somehow encroaching upon Dean's fatherhood rights by caring for Ben.

Dean sighed, but he smiled slightly as he did so. He wasn't angry; just a bit amused judging by his aura and resigned.

"Lisa said you might do this," he muttered as he moved closer, "C'mon Sammy. We can have _one_ chick flick moment tonight."

Dean slung an arm around his shoulders, and Sam managed a watery laugh (Lisa, in all her wisdom, had struck again) before the tears slipped down his cheeks.

Neither of them cried very often, as tears were something they had little time for in their childhood, but of the two of them, Sam did it the most. Dean never held it against him when he did though, content to be the shoulder to cry on if it made him feel better.

And it did. Sam wiped them away as quickly as they came, but there was something cathartic as at least one issue was settled between him and his brother.

_It's almost like the good ol' days._

"Just how much did you discuss with Lisa?" he asked as his brother shuffled away. Dean was always a bit awkward post-cry, but Sam didn't hold it against him. Some things between them were easier to let go.

"A lot," he responded, brow crinkling, "She said something about how our miscommunication needed to stop before it ruined us. She told me what she knew about the sleepwalking, and…"

Here, Dean hesitated, his aura condensing into a dark forest green.

Sam reached out a hand to clasp his brother's bicep, a bit alarmed at the sudden shift.

"What is it?"

Dean chewed on his lip for a second before averting his eyes.

"She said that we should 'stop being boneheaded about love'," he finally said, nose wrinkling as he said the word 'love', "Whatever that means."

_He's just confused, _Sam realized as the dark green lightened to a more normal apple green, _He really has no idea what she's talking about._

"She was specific on the 'we' bit?" he asked, and Dean nodded.

"Do you have any idea what she was talking about? Cause at first I thought she was just talking about us and Ben, but it didn't seem like it!"

Sam smiled at his brother's confusion. Lisa had been clear with her encouragement to get a move on with Gabe, which he was planning to do soon (after the whole serial killer thing was over he could give it his undivided attention), but how did she know _Dean_ was inadvertently caught up with someone new?

"Did you tell her about Cas?"

"Well, _yeah_," Dean said in an 'are-you-dumb?' tone of voice, "She saw the pepper spray can and got curious, so I told her Cas was a friend!"

_A friend, _Sam thought as Dean's aura took a much more positive quality just from saying Cas' name, _You haven't made a new friend in _years_. No wonder she's preaching about love._

Dean may have been able to take down a grown man with his hands tied behind his back, but in the emotional realm, he was significantly lacking. Sam wanted to question him on how exactly he'd grown so close to Cas in such a short amount of time (and how thickheaded he was being about it), but he kept himself in check. They'd already exhausted the reservoir for emotional conversation, and he knew Dean would just clam up on him if he tried.

"It's probably just Lisa being Lisa," Sam assured, deciding that discussing Cas and Dean's relationship would have to wait for another night., "I wouldn't worry too much about it."

Dean nodded in clear relief. Knowing his brother, he'd probably been working himself into a state trying to dissect the meaning behind Lisa's words.

"About that cabin Sammy…"

He trailed off, and Sam knew from his aura that he wouldn't like what he was about to hear.

"You've had more dreams of it," he stated flatly.

"Yeah," Dean replied, pillowing his head on his forearm. Soft shadows hid his eyes, but Sam didn't need to see them to know that they were troubled, "Relatively speaking since I don't sleep often, but when I do…the cabin takes the prime spot."

"But you don't sleepwalk?"

Dean shook his head, leading the younger Winchester to mull on the differences between their odd sleep experiences.

Out of the two of them, it _would_ make sense that Dean wouldn't be having as frequent dreams. On the rare occasion he did sleep more than four hours, he was so deeply asleep that nothing could disturb him, least of all some weird vision. Besides, something told him that this wasn't going to be a problem that Dean faced and that for whatever reason, Sam would be bearing the brunt of the visions.

_I'll just add it to my repertoire since there's always room for more in my life._

"I've been feeling stronger lately," Dean remarked, absently flexing a scarred hand before curling it into a fist, "When I pulled you out of the Roadhouse, there was a giant pile of wood in the way and I just-_bulldozed_ my way through it like it was nothing."

The mention of the Roadhouse brought back that night in vivid detail just for a moment. Sam hadn't spent much time thinking of it, but Dean had seemed almost unstoppable that night.

"I thought it was just adrenaline or something," Sam said, to which Dean shook his head.

"It had been building up for the previous few days, but the Roadhouse made me realize I wasn't just imagining it," he said, "It's not so bad that I can't control it. But it just feels _off_."

Dean rubbed his chest absentmindedly, around the area where they'd gotten their matching pentacles. Sam eyed the motion, noting it for later reference. He wasn't sure if it held any importance, but he couldn't help but recall the time he'd clawed at his chest in Gabe's apartment.

"I don't know what's going on, but I'm going to keep an eye on you and Ben," Dean continued somberly, aura already completely set on what was in his head the new mission, "This sleepwalking and vision business can get dangerous, and I don't want either of you getting hurt cause you nodded off at the wrong time with no one around."

Sam pressed his lips together. He had been expecting this, and while he could understand Dean's reasoning (waking up in the bathtub still freaked him out a bit), Sam didn't want his brother babysitting him for what could potentially be a long-term problem.

"And I _know_ you don't like it when I breathe down your neck, but this is _different_ Sammy," Dean said fiercely, suddenly sitting up with blazing green eyes, "You can't brush this off. You're seeing weird shit and dead people and bad stuff, and completely setting aside the whole sleepwalking bit of it, that stuff will mess with your mind."

"I know, but you can't watch me 24/7! It's impractical; we have lives to lead," Sam hissed quietly, "You can't predict when I'll suddenly get hit with a vision or fall asleep, so there's no point in watching me."

"_Sam_-"

Sam cut him off with a wave of his hand, "Just-if you want to keep an eagle eye on _someone_, then let it be Ben. You can't watch the both of us, and he needs it more than me."

It was an underhanded move. They both knew it, but it needed to be said. Dean really couldn't keep an eye on the both of them like he wanted to, and this way, he wouldn't feel as if he was just standing aside and doing nothing. Sam knew he was putting Dean in a hard position here (choosing between a brother and a son?) but ultimately, he knew fatherhood would win out.

Dean's aura flitted through a myriad of shades. His green eyes were just as turbulent, and he glared viciously at him before falling back against the headboard with an aggrieved sigh.

"You really suck sometimes Sammy," he huffed, crossing his arms hard enough to stretch his shirt, "You _know_ I'd watch Ben."

"That's what you're _supposed_ to do, dumbass," Sam echoed with a faint smile, and Dean grunted before flinging a pillow at him with lightning speed.

Sam couldn't _quite_ duck it in time and yelped as it clipped the side of his face. It stung like a bitch, as Dean always had extra power to put behind his throws.

_And he now has even more to put behind it. So much for winning this pillow fight._

"That's what you get for being a smartass," Dean proclaimed before hurling another pillow that narrowly missed him, "But you've made your point. _However_, you're going to have to do something for me."

"What's that?" Sam asked suspiciously, already a bit on edge. He'd probably do what Dean asked regardless, but he truly had no idea what his brother could ask of him right now.

_Whatever it is can't be too bad, right?_

Dean got out of bed in one fluid motion, leaving Sam to flop back in the newly opened space.

"Come see Lisa with me tonight so she can check you out."

"She won't be able to do anything for me," Sam responded automatically. He loved Lisa and trusted her expertise as a nurse, but he didn't have high hopes for her having any idea what to do about his premonitions.

Dean pulled a face as he began to gather up all of his weapons and replace them.

"I know, but it'd make me feel better. Put my mind at ease and all that shit," he said, face lightening briefly as he picked up the pepper spray before falling into a scowl as he turned to look fully at Sam, "If I'm going to leave you to your own devices, I want Lisa to make sure you're at least semi-functioning."

_It's a reasonable request, _Sam thought as Dean finished getting ready, _This way I can see Lisa and Ben too and see how they're managing the sleepwalking on their end._

"Alright, _fine_," he said, pretending as if he'd had to think long and hard about it. Dean would've been suspicious if he'd agreed too easily, and Sam wasn't going to mess this up now, "I'll go to put your elderly nerves to rest."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

Dean adjusted his leather jacket and ran a hand through his hair before jerking his chin upward in a sign that he should get up.

"Come on. We've left Cas to his own devices for too long."

"Whatever," Sam grumbled, getting up with difficulty from the bed. His normally shitty bed had felt pretty comfortable when he'd been talking to his brother and he was reluctant to move, "It's not like he could've burned down the apartment or anything."

Cas hadn't burned down the apartment while they were gone. In fact, he'd done quite the opposite. The smell of well-made coffee permeated the whole apartment, where the man was puttering around now with cups. His trench coat was hung up neatly on the rarely used hook by the door, altering his appearance in an odd way Sam had noticed lately when Cas didn't have his coat. It seemed Cas and his coat were as intrinsically entwined as Dean and John's old leather jacket.

"Normally I would ask before utilizing some else's kitchen, but I assumed it would be alright to take a preemptive measure," Cas said as the Winchesters drifted towards the breakfast bar, "Have you two settled what's needed to be settled?"

Sam purposefully let himself fall behind Dean so his brother wouldn't see as he watched the pair and their aura's interact. Watching two such large and flashy auras mellow out and blend at the edges when in close proximity was fascinating as always, and a big tell on their relationship.

_Or rather, their potential for something more, _he thought as he watched his brother awkwardly pat Cas' shoulder as thanks for the coffee, _Dean will need some nudges, but it's all there. _

"It smells good Cas, so don't worry about it," he said, interrupting what looked like _very_ intense eye contact, "Dean, move."

He didn't have to add that last bit, but they were brothers, and Dean was _still_ looking at Cas like he'd put the stars in the sky. Their auras were about as mingled as auras could get given the counter between them, and… was Cas actually _smiling_? Lisa was right; his brother was being boneheaded.

Dean must've realized he'd been staring at Cas because his cheeks turned a bit pink as he shoved at Sam and grumbled inaudibly under his breath. Cas ducked his head and shuffled down the counter a bit, sliding a pair of mugs forward as the Winchesters sat.

The show of embarrassment was so uncharacteristic for Dean that it helped make up Sam's mind right then and there. If these flames were going to get fanned, he'd have to do it. Maybe it was his own situation with Gabe giving him newfound confidence in what he saw (which was a bold thing to say considering he'd only gotten his shit together a few days ago), but he was sure that there was a spark of mutual feelings here he could encourage.

Sam hadn't played matchmaker in a long time. Back in high school, and even before then, it had been ridiculously easy to tell who had a crush on who. Auras were telling like that, but he always made sure to only meddle of the feelings were mutual. If it was, he sometimes gave people the nudges they needed, and have even put a few couples together in this manner. He'd quit doing it once he hit LU though, both because his own relationship with Jess was growing complicated, and because he simply didn't have the time to execute such subtle maneuverings to get people together.

_But this is Dean_, he thought as Cas prepped Dean's coffee for him just the way he liked it without prompting, _Something like this is so rare for him; too rare, so I won't let it slip away from him._

"So Cas," he started, propping his chin in his hand as he casually stirred in his own coffee, "What was your thought process behind the pepper spray? Cause the canister is pretty cute-_ow_!"

Sam rubbed his bicep where Dean had landed one hell of a punch, but the damage had been done. Cas' eyes were sparkling with amusement now, aura lightening to a brilliant azure shot through with sky blue streaks.

"I told him it would be an excellent, _non-lethal_ addition to his armory," he said, fixing a mock serious glare on Dean as he said 'non-lethal', "And I believe it was if his usage of it is any indicator."

"I told you, I already had my keys out, so _of course_ I went for the pepper spray," Dean muttered, crossing his arms defensively, "I still prefer my knife Cas!"

Sam smiled as the two devolved into an odd sort of bickering, which involved Cas misunderstanding some of Dean's references and his brother having to backtrack and explain. Then Dean would remember they were arguing, and he'd launch right back into it.

He sipped on his coffee, content to let them argue like an old married couple before he spotted the notepad still lying on the counter.

_Shit._

He'd been so caught up agonizing over what mother hen methods Dean would use on him that he'd completely forgotten to contact Gabe.

Luckily, Dean and Cas didn't seem to be paying him much mind. Sam mentally applauded Cas on being able to hold his brother's attention so effectively as he grabbed his phone from the coffee table and slunk down to the bathroom.

"Please be awake," he muttered as his phone dialed.

He didn't have to wait long. Gabe even sounded alert as he answered with a "Hey Sammo," that had Sam smiling despite the severity of the situation.

"Hey Gabe. Look, I know this will sound weird, but do you have any way of checking on Olsen?"

"I could contact Jody and Donna I suppose, but last I heard she was perfectly fine. Why?"

Gabe's tone turned more curious at the end, and Sam chewed his lip as he debated what he would possibly tell the P.I. Telling him of the visions wasn't something to be done over the phone, but he needed Gabe to know the situation was imperative.

"A hunch," he said, mind racing as he looked into the mirror. His reflection was sickly enough that Dean's request for him to see Lisa didn't seem so farfetched, "This is the longest stretch of time De-_The Crucifier's_ gone without killing, and it doesn't sit right."

"A hunch," Gabe echoed, but not in a disbelieving way. It felt more pensive like he'd expected the two words in some form or fashion, "Is this one of those Winchester things?"

Sam couldn't help the tense spike of wariness. Once again, he got the sense that Gabe's perceptiveness wasn't limited to his work.

"It's a Sam Winchester thing," he said, letting the P.I make of _that_ what he would.

There was a pause on the other end. Sam could imagine Gabe's brow furrowing, eyes slightly narrowed as he tried to make heads or tails of the possibly loaded statement.

"You're so _cryptic_, Sam-a-lam," he groaned dramatically, "But I'll check because I trust you and you're one smart cookie."

"Thanks, Gabe," he sighed, running a hand through his hair, "Just want to cover all our bases."

"Of course. Be _careful_ Sam."

Gabe rarely called him Sam, and with such a heartfelt 'be careful' to end the call, Sam was convinced the man knew he was sinking deeper into a mess. He just wasn't _asking_ about it, because as he'd said, he trusted him.

_He barely knows half of what I'm capable of or what I'm going through, _he thought as he flushed the toilet to make an excuse for his absence and splashed some water on his face. _But he trusts me anyway._

The cold water brought a little color to his face, but he still looked rough. Sam sighed before deciding that he'd just accept it and went to unintentionally break up whatever could've happened while he was gone.

It turned out to be a surprisingly sweet scene. Dean and Cas' faces were less than a foot apart; Dean had leaned in, and Cas had crossed his arms on the counter to lean in from his side. Cas' head was tilted as he nodded at whatever Dean was saying, completely captivated by his brother's gestures and persona. Their auras had calmed and spread to fill the apartment with their respective hues, altering the atmosphere significantly with their combined presence.

Sam lingered for a moment in the hall as he took it all in. Moments like this where auras were simply things of beauty were what made his gift (or curse, or skill; it depended on his mood) bearable.

"I'd hate to break this up, but if we're going to get to Lisa's, we should probably arrive at a reasonable hour," Sam finally said as he walked in, nodding to the clock in the kitchen.

The pair turned to look at him with simultaneous expressions of confusion before Dean's eyes slid to the clock. Upon seeing the time, he cursed colorfully before gulping down the rest of his coffee.

"Lisa will _kill_ me if I show up after midnight," he said, scrambling up from his seat, "You two need to get ready!"

Cas's aura swirled through a few troubled shades of indigo, matching the moody frown on his face. Sam took notice and tugged on the man's sleeve to get his attention.

"Don't worry about Lisa," he said quietly as Dean disappeared down the hall, "She's not the enemy here."

"How can you possibly know that?" Cas asked, expression changing to crestfallen. He was clearly focused on Dean and Lisa's previous relationship, and their closeness now.

"Because I know Lisa, and all she wants is us Winchesters to be happy. She's not going to get in between you and Dean," Sam said, trying to be as reassuring as possible.

Cas' aura settled a bit (being reassuring _was_ Sam's forte), but it still held a trace of insecurity. Sam could read all the doubt and nervousness written in the blues that warred with each other. It spiraled into anxiety, taking the form of crackly static that muted the vivid blues with its own less impressive blue-gray.

It caught Sam off guard, as Cas' nature was so calm and generally unruffled, but he could sympathize with his situation. Dean was clueless as to how much Cas liked him, and for Cas, chasing after Dean probably seemed extremely hopeless. Lisa was just another added obstacle to him and a reminder that Dean liked women at least at some point in his life.

_Poor Cas. He's in a really awkward position here._

Dean reemerged from the hall with a bundle in his arms and the need to rush clear in his stride.

"Alright, Sam. Bundle up; it's freezing outside, and you look one step away from a cold," he said, tossing what Sam could now see as his thickest jacket and a blanket to him, "Did you finish your coffee Cas?"

"I'm _not_ taking this," Sam declared, pinching the blanket (which was coincidentally plaid) between his pointer finger and thumb like with a grimace, "What am I, 10?"

"It's cold outside," Dean said, completely ignoring his complaint as he leveled his best 'I'm-watching-out-for-you-right-now' gaze at him, "So put it on."

Sam scowled but acquiesced with a sigh. It must've felt like the Arctic Circle outside if _Dean_ was admitting it was cold.

He draped the plaid blanket over his shoulders and stood, striking a silly pose in an attempt to ease Cas' stress.

"On a scale of 1-10, how ridiculous do I look right now?"

Cas pretended to seriously study him, and Sam almost thought the joke had flown right past his head, but his bright eyes gave away his amusement.

"About a 6," he answered in a deadpan voice.

Dean took one look at him before shaking his head with a muttered 'Sammy' and moving out of sight into the entrance hall. In mother hen mode, Dean wasn't the most receptive to humor.

"How about now?" Sam asked, tossing his hair and cocking his hip in an even more extravagant pose. It felt like he'd just about dislocated his femur, but he was sure he could give Gabe a run for his money in terms of dramatic.

This earned a smile and muffled snort of laughter, along with a score of 8.

"Cas, get your angelic butt over here! You don't even have your coat on!" Dean barked, sticking his head into the kitchen and waving the man's trench coat about.

"_Angelic_?" Sam asked, arching his eyebrows as he scurried over to lean over the breakfast bar and smirk at his brother.

Dean caught his insinuation and promptly turned _very_ rosy, but Cas gave a very logical explanation as he took his coat.

"I'm named after a minor angel. The angel of Thursday to be exact."

"That's neat, having a namesake like that," Sam remarked, drawing his blanket a little tighter around him, "I'm guessing Dean calls you all sorts of silly nicknames."

"Oh yes," Cas said, a miffed look crossing his face as Dean began to splutter, "He likes to get very creative-"

"It's time to go," Dean interrupted, ears burning red now as Sam smothered his laughs, "Out, _now_."

"Fine," Sam groaned, dragging himself towards the front door. There was a whole car ride ahead to look forward to after all, especially if Cas could continue to drop gems like that. He gave Dean his best mischievous look on the way out to let him know that there would be no mercy.

Dean's seemingly out of the blue 'Sonuva_bitch _Sammy!' earned a strange look from Cas, along with Sam's responding snickers, but that was alright.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Sam had his brother back.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

Imagine I have a little pepper shaker labeled 'Destiel'. Throughout this series, I've more or less kept a moderate hand on the shaker, but with this chapter, the lid came off and it all got dumped in. Picture a similar scenario with a saltshaker labeled 'Winchester brother moments', and bam you have this chapter!

I know a lot of you are chomping at the bit for Sabriel, and peace my fellow shippers! Thy ship is on a steady course and can be spotted in the near distance. Just hang in there, because Destiel and plot play a game of catch up in this chapter and the next.

For Lost in the Wind, I didn't realize Dean's traits were so contradictory until I'd gotten a few chapters into Chromaticity, and by then I just kind of went with it. As for Dean's POV, I'd probably write a lengthy one shot if I ever get the time. It's not something I'm completely against!

Also, for those readers that have been hanging in there and remember the golden days when I updated more frequently: you lot are the purest, best beings for sticking around. A special shoutout to you guys as it's been over a year since I originally began posting. You're the best!


	7. Magic Is for the Believers

**Chapter 7- Magic Is for the Believers**

Lisa lived on the outskirts of Lawrence, about ten minutes down the highway out of East Center in a suburb that was too close to Lawrence to be idyllic and too suburban to be true city living. Her house was small but well kept, with a chain-link fence gating it in and flower beds that would come to life once winter thawed properly. The living room light was on, which meant that despite the early morning shift she had, she was still awake.

_And she'd only be awake if she was expecting us._

"She's been waiting this whole time. You planned this," Sam stated from the backseat, shoulders hunched to converse body warmth. It really had been freezing outside, and the Impala's heating system left much to be desired from his seating.

That was another thing. He was _in the backseat_. Sam had never been relegated to it before like this, and while it made sense (Dean and Cas had shared more intense eye contact throughout the ride, as well as soft conversation), he still couldn't help but feel grumpy about it.

_My legs hurt._

"Yup."

Sam wasn't the only one to fix Dean a wounded look. Cas probably hadn't factored meeting his brother's ex tonight, and the younger Winchester was glad to see that he was more than capable of expressing complete betrayal.

"I don't need you two tag teaming me," Dean said, shaking his head, "You're acting like you're about to walk to death row for God's sake! It's just Lisa!"

"Did it ever occur to you that I've never _met_ her before?" Cas asked, aura bristling a bit.

Dean's face became a perfect picture of confusion as he responded with the unwittingly inflammatory, "Why would it be a problem?"

"Oh boy," Sam muttered as Cas' aura practically exploded upon hearing _that_, "I'm just going to go…"

Neither of them paid Sam any mind as they began to argue, which was a blessed relief. The night air was blustery and ripped at Sam's blanket, but he made it through the gate and up the walkway in record time.

He had barely knocked before the front door was opened by a smiling Lisa, who quickly turned confused as she realized it was just him.

"Dean and Cas are being stupid, so you'll have to give them a minute," Sam explained through mild shivers, "Can I-?"

"Get in? Of course Sam," she said, quickly shaking off her confusion as she ushered him in, "You're so pale! Are you feeling ok?"

The foyer was small, as the narrow staircase up to the second floor was directly across from the front door. An open doorway to the living room was right to the left, and the doorway past it led to the kitchen, which was where Lisa was nudging him.

"Yeah, I'm alright," he replied. Lisa's soothing cobalt aura and the warm house was leagues better than the cramped Impala's backseat.

"It doesn't seem like it. I'm assuming you and Dean discussed the sleepwalking?" she asked as she finally got him into the kitchen.

Everything was cozy and clean, with the only thing out of the ordinary being the first aid kit sitting on the kitchen table. Sam arched an eyebrow at it questioningly, to which Lisa pulled out a thermometer and raised her own expectant eyebrow.

"_Fine_," Sam sighed (he'd been saying fine a lot tonight), sitting down and letting Lisa do what she wanted, "And we discussed things."

S_ome things we should really tell you._

Out of everyone in his life, Lisa should've been told a long time ago about how they'd grown up. He and Dean had even sort of agreed on it at one point (we'll tell her soon, later, once Ben gets older), but then she and Dean had split, and his brother had used it to cop-out.

Beyond that, Sam had always wanted to tell her about how he could see auras. How Winchesters were truly cursed, and how they'd always been a bit _different_ from everyone else. He never had though, and Sam regretted it now because it had become imminent. Lisa couldn't just _not_ know her son was having premonitions, and that in turn led down the winding path of explaining everything else.

Guilt hit Sam in his gut, twinging harder than his Winchester instinct ever did. Lisa deserved that knowledge, and he'd failed her by withholding it for too long.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled around the thermometer in his mouth.

Lisa gave him a strange look. Her cobalt aura showed her confusion and worry, and he wondered how sick he looked now.

"What for?" she asked as the thermometer beeped.

"For what I'm about to tell you," Sam responded quietly as she took the thermometer from his mouth. His stomach hurt with nerves because there was no possible way Lisa could handle all of what he was going to let go. Regardless, he _had_ to tell her.

The front door opened, and Lisa glanced at the doorway before looking down at the thermometer and setting it on the table.

"Wait here," she said, tone unreadable as she went out to greet Dean.

Sam considered getting Dean in here as well because this involved him too, but almost immediately rejected the thought.

_He won't be able to go through with it, or he'll mess it up. It has to be me._

A small part of his brain tried to tell him that this wasn't entirely his responsibility, but Sam shoved it away. There wasn't much time, and he couldn't spend it trying to cajole Dean into telling Lisa.

The little digital display on the thermometer read "99.9°", but he couldn't bring himself to care much about the fact he had a mild fever when Lisa returned alone.

"They'll stay in the living room," she said, pulling a chair up close to him and pressing a hand to his limp one splayed on the tabletop. Her aura felt comforting, taking a bit of the edge of his nerves. "Sam, what's going on?"

"I…I can't explain without explaining _everything_," he said, not daring to look at her directly. He hoped that she understood what he meant by everything because Sam didn't think he could follow through if he had to clarify.

There was a moment's silence before Lisa's hand tightened on his and a jolt of cobalt ran up his arm.

Sam turned sharply to look at Lisa and saw that there was nothing but a quiet acceptance and silent encouragement in her dark eyes.

"It's alright Sam," she said, sounding so gentle that he could scarcely believe it, "It's just me."

_She's listening._

Sam inhaled shakily. The weight of his past and all the secrets he'd carried with him either silently or shared only with Dean constricted his chest for a single moment, screaming at him to stop, to forget about this and to just keep going on the way he'd gone on his whole life. He was about to break the cardinal Winchester rule that had always gone unspoken into a billion pieces.

_Never tell anyone._

He clenched his free fist, fighting through all of his inhibitions until they let up just enough for him to say the first words.

"It all started when Mom died…"

…

It took Sam an hour and forty-two minutes to bare his soul to Lisa.

He wished he could say he'd spoken confidently, or at least some conviction. Truth was, the words were shaky and fearful, coming out splintered and half-formed from the compressed space in his chest he'd kept them all these years. Telling his story hurt, because to him it was an ugly thing of suffering and secrecy and sight he'd wished some days he'd never had. It was all he had though, and Sam didn't quit once he set his mind to something.

The first words were the hardest, but after that everything came forward in one giant mess. Everything seemed different spoken aloud, and it put a lot of things into perspective for Sam. Things like their nomadic motel lifestyle before Lawrence and relying on Dean as a surrogate parent seemed worse and retelling how John's grief had warped him became infinitely more pitiful.

Lisa, to her credit, held herself together spectacularly. She'd pressed her lips together at hearing of the true depths of his early childhood and flinched repeatedly when she'd heard of the training he'd undergone, but she never broke her silence. Her aura dipped and rose in mood, responding to his words, but Lisa remained steadier than Sam could've dreamed.

It was only until he told her of his ability to see auras and began to go down that tangent that she began to cry. Sam faltered at the sight of the tears, but she quickly brushed them away and grasped his shoulders.

"There's _nothing_ to be ashamed about Sam," she said, tear-filled voice somehow filled with enough conviction that he couldn't help but at least _want_ to believe her, "You're making it seem like it makes you a freak or something, but it doesn't."

Sam stared at her for a moment before blurting out, "Blue."

Lisa blinked in confusion, and he clarified with a vague gesture to the air around her. To him, his fingers brushed through billowy, dark blue wisps.

"Your aura is blue," he said quietly, letting his gaze go slightly unfocused as he gazed at Lisa's aura, "Cobalt to be exact."

"Is that…good?"

For the first time since he'd begun, Sam could smile and did so as best he could.

"The very best."

Talking about auras led to speaking of Dean's own odd super strength and of the sleepwalking, and Lisa quickly put two and two together as Sam spoke of the visions he'd been having. Her aura flared with motherly concern, but she remained seated until Sam wrapped up with what had happened earlier with his most recent vision, and of his discussion with Dean.

"Oh _Sam_," she said, suddenly sounding very tired and worn as she closed the distance between them with a hug, "I always had my suspicions, but hearing you _say_ it…I can't believe you kept this to yourself all these years."

Sam hugged her back, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief that Lisa wasn't screaming or yelling or telling him to get out of her house before he cursed her doorstep anymore with his presence.

"Well, I had Dean," he mumbled into her shoulder, enjoying the soft scent of her hair. Peaceful, accepting moments like this were rare for him.

She pulled away from him with a scowl so uncharacteristic that Sam did a double-take.

"I'll be having words with him!" she exclaimed, suddenly standing and going to the corner of the kitchen where she began to…do dishes? "I can't _believe_ he copped out of this! When I said you wanted to tell me something that seemed important, you know what he said?"

Sam winced as Lisa began to clatter the dishes around very loudly, her cobalt aura bubbling with anger.

_And there it is. I knew it'd be too good to be true for Lisa to not feel some sort of anger, but why at Dean and not me?_

"'Just listen to Sammy'," she quoted with dramatic air quotes and a mock gruff voice, "That's it! Instead of telling me _himself_ that his son is having glimpses of the future and oh, by the way, we all have some sort of superpower, he gets _you_ to do it!"

She plunged her hands into the sink, scrubbing mercilessly at a poor, defenseless pot.

"His younger brother, who's _running a fever_ and suffering from the same thing as my son, but on a catastrophically worse scale!"

Her aura was erratic with emotion now as she let the pot fall back into the sink with a splash and grabbed another piece of innocent silverware.

"I know he's not the most _expressive_ man," she said with a wry chuckle, turning to gesture with the spatula she'd chosen as her next victim, "God Sam, we both know your brother is about as good at talking about feelings as this spatula, but he could've at least _sat_ here! Offered moral support!"

"Lisa…" Sam started, only to trail off as he realized through viewing her aura that she wasn't really angry at _Dean_.

_She's just angry at how our experiences led us to be the way we are._

Lisa sniffed, suddenly on the edge of tears again. Sam stood to wrap an arm around her shoulders as she tossed the spatula into the suds.

"It's just so _unfair_," she hissed, bracing her hands on the edge of the sink as Sam rubbed her back, "You two were put through so much hurt, and don't get me wrong, you're both great men, but…"

"We're pretty fucked up," Sam finished for her, smiling softly to let Lisa know that she hadn't offended him.

She managed a wan smile in return, wiping hurriedly at her eyes before returning his hug.

Sam sensed the aura a second before he heard the pitter-patter of small feet. It was dusky and sluggish with sleep, but as he turned to look at Ben in the doorway, it quickly came to life in a burst of color.

"Unca Sam?"

With his shock of dark hair sticking out in every imaginable direction and his rocket ship pajamas, Ben made for an adorable sight. His sleepy eyes made him seem much older though, quickly catching a spark of intelligence as he began to perk up.

"Momma, you didn't say Unca Sam was coming," he said, running up and reaching his arms upward. Sam obliged him, swinging him up and settling him on his hip.

"I didn't know until last minute sweetie. Your dad's here too," Lisa replied, running a hand through his hair.

Ben's aura turned a happy hue, but physically he only yawned and smiled, resting his head on Sam's shoulder. His childlike trust was reassuring because, amidst all the things changing and perched on the edge of no return in Sam's life, Ben's love remained constant.

"I know, but I heard you talking with someone," he mumbled, almost half asleep again, "I wanted to see if it was you, Unca Sam."

"I'm right here buddy," he said, smoothing his hand over Ben's hair as he exchanged a look with Lisa, "Why don't we get you to bed?"

Ben said nothing; too tired to get words out. Sam was already out of the kitchen though, stepping into the living room temporarily to check on Dean and Cas.

The pair were sitting on the couch, with Cas pressed up against one of the armrests to skim a book by the lamplight on a side table, and Dean just a few inches away from him. Their auras were pleasantly mingled; Dean's green soothing the wild blues that had betrayed Cas' anxious state earlier. His brother shifted away as soon as Sam stepped in, eyes already fixed on Ben.

"Is he alright? I thought I heard him sneak down the stairs," he remarked, standing to check on his son.

"Ben's perfectly fine. It's a lot easier now that I know what's going on," Lisa said from the doorway, arms crossed, and one eyebrow arched. Her last remark was tagged on almost casually, but the severity of her mood was clear in the way her dark eyes fixed on Dean.

To his credit, Dean looked properly ashamed as he shuffled his feet and mumbled some sort of excuse under his breath. It didn't cut it for Lisa, who jerked her head towards the kitchen in a 'time to talk' gesture.

Sam stifled a snort as she turned her attention to Cas, her attitudes switching completely as she smiled welcomingly at him.

"Are you sure you don't need anything Castiel? I know it must've been a long night for you; I have a cot I can set up in a flash if you want to sleep."

"Oh, so you give _Cas_ the nice treatment," Dean grumbled, earning himself a dark glare and reproachful sniff from Lisa.

"Unlike you, he knows how to act when one drops by someone's house in the middle of the night," she remarked scathingly before flashing a winsome smile at Cas, "I have to borrow Dean for a few minutes, but I promise to return him in one piece. More or less."

Dean shivered as Lisa said 'more or less'. She was probably one of the few people that could intimidate him properly, and Sam smirked at him as she dragged him to the kitchen.

_Serves you right for chickening out! _

Cas remained on the couch, brow furrowing as he tilted his head.

"Is she always so…" he trailed off, trying to find the right word as he gestured vaguely with one hand, and Sam nodded.

"I told you; there's nothing to worry about with Lisa," he said, clapping his free hand on the man's shoulder.

"I suppose," Cas said slowly before shaking his head and switching topics, "Sam, there's…well, I noticed the notepad on your counter."

Sam froze, his grip unconsciously tightening on Ben. His nephew squirmed a bit, mumbling something into his shoulder.

In all the rush to get to Lisa's he'd almost forgotten about the Enochian, but now it had returned to the forefront. Even worse, Cas knew about it, and while Sam liked the guy, he didn't know him well enough to get into all the backstory behind why he would have a notepad filled with Enochian runes just lying on his kitchen counter.

_Not to mention why Olsen's name is practically carved in at the top._

"I know about your sleepwalking," Cas started bluntly, shutting his book with a low thud, "That much was evident by the phone call conversation Dean had with Lisa, and what I've heard in bits throughout the evening. While I don't know much beyond that, what I _do_ know is that the only business I can possibly concern myself here with is the Enochian."

Blue eyes gazed at him steadily, reflecting the endless sea of blue that surrounded Cas on a daily basis. There was still a bit of teal and green at the very edges where he'd mingled with Dean, but it was a true testament to Cas' sheer will and independent nature that the trace was quickly fading.

_He's the ocean man, remember?_

Sam found himself sitting down, moving Ben to rest him on his lap. Sure, he didn't know Cas well, but if _Dean_ trusted him, then his gut instinct that Cas really wouldn't ask any more questions than necessary was true. And right now, that was good enough for him.

"What does it say?" he asked, focusing on Ben's sleep muted aura instead of the nervous anticipation coiling in his stomach.

Cas traced a finger over the book's cover, face inscrutable as his eyes fixed on some middle distance.

"They aren't words in the traditional sense; certainly not like the messages the killer is leaving behind. The runes are the kind that are typically seen in rituals."

"What kind of rituals?" Sam asked with a gulp. All he could think of was the twisted, perverted ones the killer seemed to be using.

"Not bad kinds," Cas said hurriedly, seeming to sense his growing unease, "In fact, they all seem to be ones used in protection rituals."

Sam relaxed, and the Enochian expert continued on.

"From what I can make out, the runes are all bits and pieces of a larger sigil. Not all the pieces are there though, so the specific protective kind is something I can't determine."

"Sigil?"

"A pictorial symbol. There are many in Enochian and they have different uses, but the use in this context is that of a symbolic representation of the outcome the creator wants. The more complicated a sigil, the more specific the result tends to turn out."

Sam thought of the pentacle on his chest for a brief moment. He didn't think it counted as a sigil, but it was in that realm, wasn't it?

"You use a lot of big words."

The two men looked down at Ben, who had woken again and was gazing at Cas with a look that was much less sleepy than expected.

"I have an expanded vocabulary," the Enochian expert responded, his aura reflecting his wariness towards Ben. Judging by the mild look of panic he shot Sam, he wasn't used to being around little kids at all.

"That's what my teacher says to me, but I don't think mine is as big as yours," Ben replied matter of factly before crawling off of Sam's lap to wedge himself in between the two of them. "Are you Daddy's new friend?"

This time, the look Cas gave him over Ben's head was practically screaming 'Help me!'.

Sam smiled and gestured for him to continue. His nephew was being downright bold with this conversation considering he'd never met Cas before, but then, he _had_ seen Cas in his vision dreams, so maybe Ben felt he was a familiar figure.

"I am," Cas said slowly, as if admitting such a thing to Dean's son could somehow be forbidden, "He's in the kitchen with your mother, if you want to see him."

"That's alright," Ben said, tilting his head upward, "Whatcha reading?"

Sam snorted as Cas looked down at the book he'd been rubbing nervously.

"It's an old text about the various applications for rituals and the components they're made of," he answered honestly, clearly deciding that trying to sugarcoat it for a four-year-old was too taxing at this late hour.

Ben stretched his neck up to look at the cover, which was blank of any sort of title or adornment. There was a trace of gold lettering on the cracked spine, but it was so faded that Sam couldn't make any words out in the dim light.

"It _does_ look old. Do you read a lot of old books?"

His aura was turning towards a pastel blue shade of curiosity, which amused Sam to no end. He knew Ben had never seen such a book before, and up until this point had probably considering his textbooks to be the most complicated literature out there.

"Yes. In my line of work, the old ones are the most useful," Cas explained, opening the book with a sudden burst of energy, "Let's see-ah, here it is."

He trailed a finger down the page he'd landed on before setting it on the coffee table and reaching for his bag. His aura had taken a different turn now, and Sam observed the change curiously. What was he up to?

"Bad dreams are something you can ease with an Enochian ritual or…magic," he said after casting a thoughtful look at Ben, "Have you ever seen someone cast magic before?"

Ben shook his head solemnly, eyes dark and wide now as he watched Cas withdraw a pen and paper.

"I've only ever seen it on TV. Are you a _magician_?"

Sam leaned back against the couch, content to let Cas take over. This was a side of Cas he'd never seen before, and he liked it. He was a little awkward, but endearingly so, and judging by his aura, he was enjoying his unexpected conversation with Ben. Sam always figured there was more to the man than just being the Enochian expert they called on occasion, but he hadn't expected anything like this.

_I wonder if Dean's seen the side of Cas or something similar beyond the dusty ancient books. It'd explain why he likes to stare at him for sure._

"Not really. I'm more of a…protector of magic. I study it and preserve it for posterity," Cas said, bending over the coffee table.

Ben wiggled off the couch to kneel on the floor so he could see Cas work better, head bent to peer at the book. His aura was small against Cas', but no less intense in color.

"But you're doing magic _now_, so that makes you a magician!"

The two were so caught up in the 'magic' that Cas was creating that neither of them noticed Dean and Lisa appear in the doorway.

Sam frantically gestured for them to stay where they were (no way was he letting them interrupt now!). They froze in their tracks, confused before Ben spoke.

"Do you do magic for bad dreams all the time?"

Lisa's face softened, but Dean's became unreadable. His aura grew a bit unsettled, churning with paternal conflict and something else he couldn't decipher.

Sam felt like he was watching a tennis court with the way he was watching the pair at the coffee table and then the pair in the doorway. It was like being a fly on the wall, except he wasn't sure if what he was witnessing had any importance.

_Maybe not to me, but to Dean it could be, _he thought as he studied his brother, _Maybe…maybe he needs to see something like this._

"Only for certain people. You have to believe in this type of magic for it to work, and not everyone believes," Cas replied as he drew the pen across the paper. His motions were sure and steady, speaking of his experience at the subject, "But I sense you're a believer."

"Well, _yeah_," his nephew said, propping his chin in his hand, "Daddy says he doesn't believe in magic, but you're his friend. That means you got him to believe in _your_ magic, right? So, you _must_ be a real magician!"

Cas paused in his work, happy shades of blue flickering to life in his aura. Sam struggled to keep a straight face as Lisa grinned wider than the Cheshire cat and elbowed Dean in the ribs. His brother barely reacted to her jab, as he was too busy gaping at the way Ben had portrayed him.

"Your faith in my magic is…appreciated," he said as he started up again, clearing his throat, "That is very hard to come by these days."

Ben gave him a sympathetic look and patted his arm. Lisa smirked up at Dean, who ducked his head in response. However, Sam thought he caught a flash of a smile before he did.

_My matchmaking abilities must not be so rusty after all, because this feels like a success._

Cas finished with a flourish and presented the paper to Ben, who accepted it as if it were the most fragile item in the world.

"I hope my spell is satisfactory for you-oof!"

Sam smothered a laugh as his nephew hug tackled Cas before scrambling back onto the couch, waving the paper in his face.

"Unca Sam, look, isn't it amazing! The circle is perfect!"

"Maybe if you hold _still_ I could see it!" Sam exclaimed, but he managed to make out what was on the paper regardless.

He had to admit; the circle was pretty damn symmetrical considering Cas had freehanded everything. There was a certain aesthetic to the curved lines and sharp angular contrasts, little runes written in each of the complicated sections the circle had been divided into.

"What do you say when someone gives you something Ben?" Lisa asked as she decided now would be a good time to interrupt. Dean trailed in after her with an uncharacteristically thoughtful look on his face.

"Thank you, Mr. Castiel," Ben recited dutifully before beaming. "Momma, look! It's a _spell_."

Sam scooted over to let Lisa take his place on the couch and turned his attention to Dean and Cas. He was tidying up with Dean's help, who had squatted down to grab Cas' bag. At first glance, it didn't look as if they were speaking, but Sam could swear he heard the faint murmurs of whispered words. Unfortunately, he didn't have Dean's bionic hearing, and so had to settle for observing the moment silently.

Whatever had been said, it made Cas smile bashfully and turned his aura into a bright blue blaze of happiness. Dean stood and cleared his throat loudly, wiping his face clean of the soft look he'd had with Cas and sticking on something more normal.

"Time for bed, Benji," he said sternly, "You're up way past your bedtime."

"S'not my fault!" Ben retorted, but he smacked a goodnight kiss on his mother's cheek before extending his arms upward to Sam.

Before tonight, Sam would've shot a panicked look at his brother and felt guilty at the preferential show of affection from his nephew, but now he simply shook his head and picked him up.

"If you think I'll show mercy because I'm supposed to be the fun uncle, you've got another thing coming kiddo. You're going _straight_ to bed," he warned, settling Ben on his hip. It was a school night after all.

Ben grumbled but tucked his head sleepily into his shoulder.

Dean stepped to the side, ruffling Ben's hair as they passed. He didn't accompany them, which was strange, but judging by the look Lisa was giving him, there would be another potentially meaningful exchange of words had in the living room.

_Tonight's just the night for that sort of thing, isn't it?_

He wasn't sure what had come over him and Dean, but Sam couldn't bring himself to mind it. They'd made it out of the rough rapids tonight with Lisa, and everything seemed to be smooth sailing from here.

Ben's room was the door on the left at the end of the small hall and looked exactly as a child's room should. Toys of all sorts rested on shelves or on the ground next to his toy bin, and his kid-sized bed was dinosaur themed after a trip to a science museum he'd really enjoyed. The drawn curtains were blue to match the walls, but in the faint yellow glow of the nightlight plugged into the outlet by Ben's bed, the blue was much darker and greenish.

"Let's put this here," Sam suggested, taking the sigil Cas had drawn and propping it up on the nightstand, "How do you feel?"

"Better," Ben responded as he tugged the covers up to his chin and settled in, "You look sick Unca Sam. Are you alright?"

His aura swirled with mild concern, but periwinkle blue shades of sleep were rapidly taking over the dusky colors. Sam estimated he'd be fast asleep in under two minutes.

"I'm alright," Sam said, sitting down on the edge of Ben's bed to smooth his hair down, "It's just a cold."

Ben's dark eyes narrowed slightly, showing he didn't _quite_ believe him. However, as children were wont to do, he abruptly changed the subject.

"I think Mr. Castiel is a good friend for Daddy. Daddy hasn't made a new friend in forever."

Sam nodded, accustomed to Ben's strange perceptiveness. Now that he had a semi explanation for it (Winchesters being Winchesters was good enough for now), he didn't have to waste time wondering _how_ his nephew did it when he could just accept it.

"Everyone needs a good friend," he murmured, watching over he nephew dutifully as he drifted off.

Ben said something in response, but it came out as a mumbled mess Sam couldn't understand, and then he was fast asleep.

He thought he'd caught something that sounded like 'Mr. Gabe' in the slurred words, but whether or not that was his mind projecting things was another story. It didn't really matter either way, because Sam had no reason to deny it anymore.

_Not denying it is one thing, but saying how I feel to Gabe is something completely different._

His phone buzzed quietly in his back pocket a few minutes later, startling him out of his doze. Sam stood, approving of the settled aura of calm sleep around Ben before stepping out and checking his phone.

Just as he'd thought, it was Gabe, and the text wasn't anything good.

_Sherlock: U were right! Olsen is MIA and the LPD are looking for her. Where are u rn?_

Sam bit his lip hard enough to break the skin before ducking into the bathroom next to Ben's room. He wasn't sure if anyone was waiting for him downstairs, so this was one of the only guaranteed ways to get privacy at the moment.

_Finding solace in a tiny bathroom is just my new thing, _Sam thought as he crouched on the edge of the tub and replied.

_Sam: Lisa's place atm. Family stuff. Wasn't she being watched? How'd she go MIA?_

_Sherlock: He got her after an LU staff meeting of all things. Some emergency thing. Are u ok?_

The soft buzz of the bathroom light made Sam's head pound. He wasn't sure what it was, but ever since he'd reluctantly entertained the possibility that he _could_ be sick, he started feeling every bit of it. Sam resolved to tell himself that he _wasn't_ sick so his brain could start feeding the placebo effect to his body, but right now, the light was killing him.

He flicked it off, leaving him with the light of his phone screen as he debated how to respond to Gabe.

There were two options: deflecting and bluffing that he was perfectly alright, which was standard Winchester protocol, or simply being honest. Sam usually went down the Winchester route, but that seemed wrong after everything that had happened tonight, and he was tired and worried. Olsen being gone and probably halfway through being Death's next victim was something he'd subconsciously anticipated ever since the vision in the kitchen, but that didn't mean he was _prepared_ for it.

Sam chewed his already sore lip before groaning quietly and making his choice.

_Sam: Talked with Dean, told him of my sleepwalking after I had another episode tonight. He dragged me to Lisa cause I look sick and I am. But it's just a cold! Focus on figuring out wtf happened to Olsen._

Gabe's response took a bit longer, and Sam jiggled his knee nervously as he waited.

_Sherlock: I'll handle it. Don't leave Lisa's and get some rest for fuck's sake! I'll call u ASAP if I hear anything. I repeat: go to sleep!_

Sam snorted at Gabe's insistence at sleep before tucking his phone away. He had no idea how Gabe was going to 'handle it', but if he had to take a guess, it'd involve a lot of pestering Jody and Donna and sneaking around the LPD in official places he wasn't technically supposed to be in.

An image of Gabe dramatically darting in and out of rooms in the LPD like he was in a spy film threatened to send Sam in a fit of sleepy giggles, but he managed to keep it in check as he went downstairs. If he returned laughing hysterically, Dean and Lisa would have him sequestered to a bed and pumped full of soup and medicine faster than he could say 'Gabriel Milton is a great sneaky P.I'.

He found the three of them in the kitchen, quietly chatting at the table. Or rather, Dean and Lisa were. Cas' aura reflected his perfect contentment with working at the end of the table with a laptop and a cup of coffee.

Sam stared at the laptop in disbelief. Compared to the ancient books he'd come to associate with Cas, it looked completely out of place, and his mind struggled to fit the slim, new bit of technology with the Enochian expert.

"Have you had that the whole time?" he blurted out.

Cas looked up at him, as did Dean and Lisa. He must've looked sicker than he wanted to, as Lisa instantly stood and steered him into a chair to fuss over him. Sam let her, too shocked by the sight before him to wave her off.

"Yes," Cas replied bluntly, but the twinkle in his eyes let on that he knew what Sam was thinking, "I _am_ a student in the 21st century after all, and writing papers is faster this way."

"Right," Sam said for lack of anything better to say (where had he _kept_ the thing? In his coat?), "It is pretty fast."

Dean stifled a laugh in his coffee mug, and Lisa tutted as she bustled about the kitchen.

"Don't laugh at your brother when he's clearly ill, Winchester!" she chastised, returning with a glass of water and some pills.

"Yes ma'am," Dean replied quickly, but Sam saw the cheeky wink he shot over to Cas.

The reaction that drew from Cas' aura was enough to make him quickly avert his eyes and busy himself with drinking the medicine before he thought too hard on _that_ aspect of what came with having a crush on someone. He'd seen plenty of such things in people's auras before, but he didn't want to see it in connection with his brother in the aura of someone that he considered a friend. There was a big difference between seeing attraction in the aura of a random waitress that flirted with Dean and seeing it in Cas's.

"This is going to make me sound stupid," Sam began with the lowered inhibition of someone who'd be asleep within the hour, "But…what _do_ you study exactly Cas? It's funny, because I've always just considered you the magical Enochian expert in my head, but you can't possibly major in that, right?"

Lisa smacked Dean's shoulder as he began to chuckle, but Cas didn't seem at all offended by Sam's clumsy approach to the subject.

"I'm majoring in History, with a minor in Ancient Languages," he explained, blue eyes crinkled as he smiled the biggest smile Sam had seen from him yet. It left no doubt in anyone's mind that Cas loved what he was learning. "I transferred to LU this semester to participate in an excellent ancient language program the history department is hosting, but also to wrap up my bachelor's before beginning grad school in the fall."

Even sleepy, Sam could do the mental math, and proclaimed, "You're _22_?"

"Going on 23," Cas confirmed, "And a student just like you. Did I give the impression I was older?"

Dean couldn't restrain a guffaw at the innocently posed question, and Sam made a diplomatic, noncommittal noise as he fiddled with his water glass.

"I mean, you dress so nicely, and I guess I never gave it much thought…"

He trailed off as he remembered something from the very beginning of the investigation, when he'd just been getting to know Gabe and dipped his metaphorical toes into the cold, dark waters of crime.

"Hannah mentioned you'd transferred that day we first met. You're siblings."

"Yes, but not in flesh. I'm the adopted one of the family," Cas explained, expression sobering, "We've been told we look related regardless."

Dark hair, blue eyes, and a tendency to tilt their heads when they didn't understand something? Sam could see it, and if Cas hadn't mentioned he was adopted, he wouldn't have come to that conclusion for a good long while. Auras could be completely different between siblings, but there was always a link beneath the surface that could be made between them, no matter how different in size, shape, and color their auras were.

Sam's brow furrowed as he thought of Cas and Hannah's respective auras. He hadn't noticed the missing link that would've declared them blood siblings, but the link was an instinctive thing he had to really pay attention to in order to find it, and if the siblings had a good bond regardless of their lack of shared genes, it was even harder to scout it out.

"No thinking," Lisa said as she pressed a warm mug into his hands, "You'll give yourself a headache with the way you're looking right now."

"I always think," Sam replied distractedly. The sweet scent of cocoa seemed off to him somehow, and as he took a sip, he realized why.

It didn't taste like the cup of cocoa Gabe had made him when he'd called him after the awful bathtub vision. Not to say that it wasn't bad (because Lisa made a damn good cup of anything), but it just wasn't the _same_.

The sudden, childish desire to have a cup of _Gabe's_ cocoa and not Lisa's was strong enough to make Sam mentally calculate how far he had to walk to the nearest subway stop (about a mile and some spare change). He stopped himself before he began to plot how he'd break out of Lisa's house, because this was ridiculous, and he _certainly_ hadn't succumbed to a sudden longing for Gabe's company at the smell of cocoa.

_Would he make cocoa for me if I asked? _

Sam hid his face in the mug as he took a long sip and told himself he was doing so because he wanted to savor Lisa's cocoa. It certainly wasn't because he missed Gabe so much he knew it showed on his face.

When he reemerged for air, he only felt marginally better. It didn't matter though, because Dean and Lisa had disappeared, and Cas' fingers were flying over the keyboard in a manner reminiscent of Sam's own late-night studies.

"They went to work out sleeping arrangements," the Enochian expert said without tearing his eyes away from the screen, "I've told them I didn't need anything as I've decided to remain awake for the remainder of the night, but they are proving to be insistent."

Sam hummed, holding onto the mug for warmth. His hands were colder than usual.

"Lisa's just like that, and Dean likes you, so you can expect at least the spare cot."

The keyboard tapping stopped, and the Winchester looked up from the cocoa (which still didn't feel right) to see Cas staring at him.

"Dean _likes_ me?"

Sam frowned before realizing he'd at least semi put his foot in his mouth with his loose tongue. He clamped down on it mentally, chiding himself for speaking too freely before he had all the facts.

"He doesn't like very many people, He still hasn't said anything to me, but it's obvious he likes you," he explained, feeling a pang as Cas' hopeful shades of robin egg's blue dimmed at the lack of romantic confirmation, "I think…I think he doesn't know himself how he feels yet. Dean's bad at feelings, you know."

Cas nodded sagely, taking a sip of coffee. Sam felt heartened to see the man's aura already bouncing back.

"I understand. But, in your opinion, do you think _something's_ there?"

Sam thought of their auras, green and blue mixing effortlessly whenever they were brought together and remaining mingled wherever they were left behind. Cas didn't know it, but he'd asked the right person for the certainty he was seeking.

"Yes. Don't give up," he said simply just as Dean and Lisa walked in.

"Give up what? What'd we miss?" his brother asked.

"Nothing," Cas said, hitting a key combo Sam would bet a million dollars was Ctrl+S before closing his laptop screen, "I do hope you haven't set up a cot for me."

"We set up the cot for you," Lisa said, confirming what seemed to be Cas' worst fear judging by the way he clutched his coffee close and exhaled sharply through his nose. "Sam gets the guest room since he's sicker than a dog."

"Sam is sitting right here, and _not_ sicker than a dog," he complained. He hated when Lisa got all 'I'm-a-nurse-and-I-know-what-I'm-doing' on him because it meant a lot of unnecessary care and medical queries in his future.

"You should look in a mirror," Dean chimed in before grasping his shoulder, "Come on Sammy. Let's get you to bed."

Sam griped and groaned, but still retained enough of his sense to say goodnight to Cas, who threw him a look of barely restrained dread as he was left to try and fend off Lisa and her own attempts to get him to bed.

He wasn't sure how, but Dean managed to get him up the stairs and to the bathroom, where Sam brushed his teeth on autopilot. His limbs were suddenly heavy with sleep, and he could barely make out his pale reflection in the mirror. Dean stood like a silent sentinel behind him and assisted him to the guest bed, which Sam practically sank into.

"S'nice," he said, pressing his face into the pillow. It didn't matter that his feet hung over the edge, or that one roll over would result in him landing on the floor; to him at that moment, it was the best bed in the world.

"It is," Dean agreed, "Come on, roll over so I can get your jeans off. You'll hate yourself in the morning if you leave them on."

Sam groaned and mumbled a string of curses, but obliged, even managing to undo his belt buckle before his hand flopped to the side. He wasn't sure where this sudden tiredness had come from, but if this was a new side effect of visions, he didn't want to see the future anymore.

_Stupid visions._

"Tired," he mumbled, already half asleep as Dean tugged his pants off.

"I know," his brother replied, drawing the covers up, "Go to sleep Sammy."

"Wait. Phone."

A part of Sam was reminding him that his phone was important and stubbornly held out against the black wave of soothing unconsciousness until he had it.

There was a voice, and then the press of an object to his hand. Sam's mind, now satisfied that he had what he wanted, finally gave up the fight against sleep.

…

Before Sam had met Gabe, he only ever had one personalized ringtone on his phone, and even that one was an on and off thing. Dean would crack his password and change his ringtone to some headbanging rock classic, and Sam would change it back to a regular ringtone when he got the chance. At the moment, he was on the winning side of the ringtone war with his brother, but recently, he'd added a new ringtone for a certain person.

He knew it was corny (not to mention embarrassing if someone figured it out), but Sam hadn't been able to resist. It somehow seemed right, and as the first lyrics filtered through his brain, he couldn't bring himself to regret his choice.

His phone was wedged between him and the mattress somewhere, the muted lyrics to 'Heat of the Moment' waking him. For a moment, the room was dark and unfamiliar until Sam remembered where he was, and why Gabe would be calling at this hour.

_Whatever this hour could be._

Sam sensed it was early, but he didn't bother to check the specific time as he fumbled around drowsily for his phone. The screen blinded him momentarily, but he managed to answer the call and press it to his ear.

"Mornin' Gabe."

"Hey Sammo," Gabe responded, sounding very tired but also slightly amused. His voice must've sounded pathetically sleepy. "Sorry to wake you."

"S'fine," Sam said, rolling over to squint at the digital clock on the tiny nightstand. 6:40 wasn't too bad for him, "What did you find out? Is Olsen…"

He trailed off to yawn, and Gabe huffed out a laugh before sighing.

"I have no idea. I've been chasing my tail all night. Jody and Donna didn't know anything more than I did, but I think they got called out about fifteen minutes ago to-_somewhere_. I don't know because nothing's been called over the police scanner, unless I _missed_ it, which means they're trying to keep whatever it is under wraps and…I know _something's_ happened, but I can't be sure it's Olsen."

"You have a police scanner?" Sam asked, his mind latching onto that bit of information out of everything he'd been told.

Gabe paused before beginning to laugh. It wasn't his usual laugh; he sounded too sleep-deprived and high strung, but it still made Sam's heart lurch dangerously in his chest.

"You need to wake up properly, and I need to go to sleep," the P.I remarked.

"Maybe," Sam said, too enraptured by the smile he could hear in Gabe's voice to end the call just yet (and didn't that make him the corniest idiot alive?), "I'm glad you tried though."

Something thudded downstairs, accompanied by a faint 'sonuva_bitch_!' that had Sam rolling his eyes at the shut door.

_Good to know Dean's now woken everyone else up if they weren't already awake._

"Trying isn't good enough if I don't get results, but I appreciate the sentiment regardless."

In the kitchen, something clattered to the ground, leading Sam to wonder what could've possibly gotten into Dean to make him so clumsy right now.

"I got to go Sammy, but if I get any sort of update I'll call," Gabe said, sounding hurried, "Bye."

"Bye," Sam replied distractedly as what sounded like Ben's door opened down the hall.

He stood, swaying only a little bit as he tugged on his jeans and approached the door. He actually felt pretty good considering how crappy he'd felt just a few hours before, and decided it'd just been a fluke cold that had brought him down as he stuck his head out.

Ben was doing the same thing from his door, and their eyes met for a second before his nephew smiled and scampered out of his room to hug his legs.

"You stayed! Does this mean I don't have to go to school?"

"That's up to your mother," he automatically said as he shepherded Ben down the stairs. In his opinion, it wouldn't hurt anybody if Ben missed a day of preschool when he was lightyears ahead of the other kids anyway, but he wasn't going to make a promise he couldn't keep.

Downstairs, the TV was on in the living room to what looked like the weather forecast (cloudy skies, high chance of rain in the afternoon), and Cas was sitting up sleepily on the cot. Sam's eyebrows rose at the, quite frankly, indecent case of bed head he was sporting. If he hadn't known better, he would've said Cas had gotten lucky.

"Morning Mr. Castiel! I didn't know you slept over too. Is it like a new holiday or something Unca Sam?" he asked as he flopped down onto the couch and beamed at them both.

Cas groaned before flopping back down onto the cot, making it creak dangerously.

"How about we keep it down for Cas?" Sam suggested as he warily eyed the increasingly dark turn the man's aura was taking. He knew Cas didn't function well without his coffee, and he _didn't_ want to find out how well he'd take to a semi energetic four-year-old this early in the morning.

"Lisa, I can make waffles- what do you mean Ben's going to school today? After the night he had? Just say he's sick or something!"

"I have work Dean, and I can't cop out today to watch Ben. Turn off that waffle maker before they smell it!"

So that's what all the hullabaloo was about in the kitchen. Sam thought it was too late to abandon the idea of waffles (the smell was beginning to seep out of the kitchen), but kept his mouth shut on that particular topic as he stuck his head in to check on the pair. He wasn't going to ask for waffles if they were in a bad mood.

Dean and Lisa were fussing about around the appliances, nattering at each other in a way Sam was used to seeing. Neither of them seemed to be in a notably foul mood, but Lisa was hustling. She was already in her nurse scrubs and had her bag on the table ready to go.

"I can watch him," Dean offered, surreptitiously attempting to plug the waffle maker back in as Lisa turned her back to open the fridge, "I'm not working today, so he can hang out with Cas and me! Guys day out on the town; it'll be great."

Sam was surprised to see that Dean seemed genuinely eager for such an outing. It didn't show on his face, but his aura gave him away with its bright, happy shades of green.

"While that sounds very lovely," Lisa replied distractedly, "I think Cas and Ben both appreciate their education very much and should go to school. _What did I tell you about that waffle maker?_"

Dean dropped the cord faster than a whip, and Sam decided to come to the rescue before she _really_ began to get irritated at his idiot brother.

"Is that waffles I smell? What's all this fuss about Ben?" he asked, playing the innocent, sleepy Winchester as he padded in.

Lisa groaned in defeat as Dean grinned triumphantly.

"We're back in business baby!" he exclaimed, plugging the waffle maker back in.

"Your brother thinks it'd be a good idea for Ben to take a day off. What do you think Sam?" Lisa asked worriedly, ignoring Dean's protests of disbelief (What happened to listening to the _father_ for an opinion?)

Sam knew she expected him to hammer the final nail in the coffin, as he was the only one besides her that was more vocal and adamant that Ben should have every chance to claw his way up to a better life through education.

"It wouldn't kill him," Sam reassured, resting his hands on her shoulders so she'd stop giving him that kicked dog look of betrayal, "It's preschool, and Ben's doing just fine. Let him have a day."

Lisa chewed on her lip before giving in with an audible sigh, throwing her hands up in defeat.

"Fine, but _don't_ take him anywhere dangerous, or keep him out too long in this weather!" she said, pointing a stern finger at Dean.

His brother nodded obediently, knowing he had to stay on Lisa's good side for a few more minutes if he wanted her decision to stick. Sam rolled his eyes before dragging his brother away from the waffle maker and towards the living room.

"Come on, let's give Lisa time to adjust. Besides, Cas is awake, and he doesn't seem happy," he said as they entered.

Cas' aura was stormy, brow furrowed deeply as he sat hunched on the edge of the cot with a blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders. Ben had changed the channel to some cartoons but had lowered the volume in an obvious attempt to soothe the disgruntled man in the corner of the room. His aura seemed more concerned than wary of Cas' bad mood, which said a lot about his developing character.

Dean sighed before crossing the room and resting a hand on Cas' shoulder. Judging by his complete lack of surprise at the sight, he was used to Cas' early morning glowers.

"I don't think Mr. Castiel likes mornings," Ben whispered as Sam plopped down next to him on the couch.

"He doesn't," he whispered back as Dean tried to coax Cas off of the cot and towards the kitchen for breakfast, with what looked like little success, "He needs some grown-up juice to get going."

Ben nodded in understanding, which is when Dean's patience seemed to wear thin.

"Alright Cas," he said, shrugging off his leather jacket, "So you've decided to play this the hard way, huh? Well, don't say I didn't warn you."

Cas glared up at him balefully in response from within his makeshift cocoon. Sam couldn't help but approve of the fiery expression (anyone that had the nerve to look at Dean like _that_ was a person worth knowing indeed), but it did little to dissuade his brother as he dove in for the kill.

Ben giggled in surprised glee as Dean threw Cas over his shoulder. He yelped and began to flail about, but between Dean's typically iron grip and his now trap of a blanket, Cas couldn't move much. That didn't stop him from trying to knee Dean in the chest.

"Should I pick up another passenger for the Winchester train?" Dean asked, grinning as he turned bright green eyes towards his son.

_He's really happy, _Sam suddenly realized as Ben tried to get away by clambering over his lap, _What's got him in such a good mood?_

"Dean. Put. Me. Down!" Cas exclaimed as his brother managed to snag the shirt of Ben's pajamas and haul him backward.

"Noooooo!" Ben cried dramatically, but he shrieked in delight as Dean tossed him up and caught him effortlessly in one arm.

"Benjamin Braeden, Castiel Novak, I regret to inform you both that you've been served a Winchester train ticket to the kitchen, where the torturous activity of waffle eating awaits!"

It hit Sam in a rush as Lisa appeared asking what on earth was going on, but with an indulgent smile on her face.

_Dean's surrounded by his favorite people right now, _he thought as Dean's aura flared outward in a supernova arc of happiness that infected everyone else in the vicinity, _That's why he's so happy._

Not much could make his brother happy, but what could ended up being very simple things. And when Dean _was_ happy, it spread to everyone else, because his happiness was something almost tangible to others in its strength. Sam couldn't help but smile as a significantly less grumpy Cas and an ecstatic Ben exited the room on Dean's shoulders.

Of course, good things always came to an end, and for Winchesters, good moments were significantly shorter.

'Heat of the Moment' began to play, and Sam answered it in the hopes that maybe Gabe had some good news. Dean's aura had left him feeling a bit giddy, and he already had half-formed plans to stop by Gabe's apartment made in his head. Maybe after Gabe told him the good news, he'd ask.

"The news. Shit Sam, turn on the news."

Sam immediately sobered up, for the remote at the tone of Gabe's voice. He didn't think he'd ever heard Gabe sound so grim and tired before, and a query of concern was already poised on his tongue before he finally managed to pull up the right channel.

His stomach sank as he saw the blazing headline, and the grave-looking news anchor already halfway through delivering the breaking news.

"-The Crucifier seems to have struck again on Lawrence University's campus, with our initial reports telling us that the Watercrest Memorial library has once again found itself to be the scene of the crime. This makes the second victim to be found in the library, and The Crucifier's fifth known victim…"

"I don't know how they know, but the LPD has descended into chaos," Gabe rambled, the sound of horns honking audible in the background. Wherever he was in the city, he was driving. "There's talk of the FBI coming in, and nobody knows how he managed to get Olsen when she was being so closely watched. This means that there's a leak in the department, which isn't _good_ Sam-"

"Breathe," Sam interrupted, standing as the TV screen switched to an image of the WM library from a distance, "Where are you, and where are we meeting?"

"…Lawrence University has decided to postpone all classes for the rest of the week in light of the horrific events…"

"Your place," Gabe said automatically, "But Sam, I thought you were-"

"Nope, I'm not letting you do this alone," he replied firmly. Sam didn't doubt that Gabe would pursue this with or without him, and someone needed to keep an eye on the P.I to make sure he didn't fall asleep on his feet, "I'll be there as soon as possible."

He hung up before Gabe could get a word in edgewise, already looking around for his shoes so he could dash over to East Center.

"Looking for these?"

Sam whirled around to see Lisa standing in the doorway with his shoes. Her expression was unreadable as he cautiously took them from her.

"Go," she said simply, dark eyes calm, "I'll keep the boys busy with waffles."

It seemed too good to be true, but Lisa's cobalt aura revealed her complete seriousness. He found himself looking at it distrustfully while he tugged his shoes on because surely she wasn't implying what he thought she was?

"Don't look at me like that Sam. You know I'm telling the truth," Lisa remarked, and Sam jolted with a brief moment of panic before he remembered that he'd told her everything last night.

_That's going to take some getting used to._

Hesitation held him regardless, but for different reasons now. Dean would want to get involved if he found out what he was doing, at the very least insisting he give him a ride over. Sam didn't want him doing that though, as that meant Ben would have to come, and he knew he could speak for everyone when he said he didn't want Ben anywhere near any aspect of the case right now.

_Dean shouldn't be either. He deserves at least one easy day._

Laughter from the kitchen sealed Sam's decision. He didn't want to break the mood, and Lisa seemed alright with letting him sneak off to meet Gabe, so why look a gift horse in the mouth?

"I owe you one, Lisa," he promised, tugging on his jacket.

She tugged him into a quick hug, rubbing his back comfortingly.

"I'm still trying to understand everything you told me, but I'm doing my best, and I know that this is something you feel like you have to do. Just…stay safe doing so, and catch the bastard doing this."

Sam didn't have any words to say how grateful he was to her for, well, _everything_. He hoped the kiss he left on her forehead spoke for itself. Then he was gone, slipping out the front door before anyone else could notice he'd left.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE

This chapter was actually supposed to be part of the last one, but I'm glad I decided to split them up early on because this one got super long. I regret none of the fluff in here because everything gets more serious after this.

I was going to edit and post this yesterday, but I had to go to my college orientation and that was more exhausting than I thought it'd be. Therefore, I've returned to start the month off with this and hopefully post once more after this before college sucks me back into the world of schoolwork.


	8. Rain and Sunlight

**Chapter 8: Rain and Sunlight**

The rain came as a relief when Sam emerged from the subway, tired from his long night and woozy from the concentration of auras that came with the morning rush.

It was just a light drizzle from flat gray skies, but it was enough to put a damper on auras and wash out his surroundings. Not that he was paying much attention to things around him; all Sam wanted to do was get back to his apartment and assess what they were possibly going to do next.

Gabe's signature car was parked outside, the yellow a bright splash of color in the gloomy weather. A quick glance showed the P.I wasn't inside, which meant he had gone up to wait outside his door. Sam decided to take the stairs as he entered, too impatient to see Gabe to bother with the elevator. He'd sounded rough on the phone, and Sam wasn't sure what state he'd be in. At the very least, he'd be as tired as him.

_Hopefully, he's alright, _he thought as he burst out from the stairwell.

A figure was slumped outside his front door towards the end of the hall, head bowed. Sam nearly had a heart attack as he took in the familiar golden aura around the person.

"Gabe?" he asked, breaking out into a sprint faster than anything he'd thought himself capable of at the moment.

Had Gabe been injured in some sort of way during his investigation? How could that have even happened? Sam had a first aid kit somewhere in the bathroom, but he'd have to call Lisa if it was serious-

The faint snores made Sam come to a screeching halt in front of Gabe. He wasn't grievously injured as he'd assumed (and rather hastily at that), but instead fast asleep.

His head was tucked down into his chest, arms clutching his messenger bag close to his chest and legs sprawled out in front of him. Every exhale ruffled the messy hair drooping over his forehead. Upon closer inspection, his aura was softened with sleep, slow and languid in every swirl it took around his body.

The sight was so unusually _peaceful_ that Sam just stared for a moment. Then he relaxed, suddenly feeling incredibly sheepish about his overreaction.

"Christ," he said, chuckling breathlessly before tugging on his hair in self admonishment. Honestly, the last few weeks must've really been getting to him if he automatically assumed the worst.

_Being Winchester cautious is one thing, but now I'm just getting paranoid._

Gabe slept on, oblivious to Sam's presence. He must've been extremely tired to not have so much as twitched a finger, and Sam was loath to disturb him when he clearly needed some rest.

"What an idiot. I'm the one that's supposed to be the workaholic," the Winchester said softly as he crouched down to gaze at Gabe's sleep slackened face. The shadows beneath his eyes were stark in the harsh light of the hall, but his golden aura softened him enough that Sam found it hard to stop looking at him.

He reached out a hand to tentatively touch Gabe's cheek, enjoying the feel of warm skin. Sam let it drag down to feel the stubble on his jaw (had he ever seen Gabe anything but clean-shaven?) and then down to Gabe's pulled up jacket collar, which was damp.

Sam smiled faintly as he smoothed it back down. He must've popped it up to ward off the rain when it had started so he could make the run inside. Sam could imagine Gabe cursing the weather under his breath, head ducked as he scowled to himself.

"Gabe," he said, gently shaking the man's shoulder. It was too drafty in the hall for him to stay any longer than he already had, and Sam didn't want to spook him by carrying him inside and inadvertently making him wake in a different place than he'd fallen asleep in. If he hadn't thought it'd be an all too likely reaction, he would've just taken him in.

Gabe startled awake with a faint gasp, golden aura going from deep sleep to awake in a frenzied flash of yellow. Sam nearly fell back as his hands lashed out, entangling in his jacket in a knee jerk reaction to being woken.

"Woah, hold on Gabe, it's just me!" he exclaimed, falling back onto his ass as Gabe sat up and forward.

"Oh. Sam?" he asked, frowning in sleepy confusion before looking down at his hands.

"Yeah, you fell asleep outside my door," Sam replied slowly, hoping he wouldn't startle Gabe any further.

"How long have I been here?" Gabe asked, clearly embarrassed as he loosened his grip on Sam's jacket and rubbed his face.

Sam got up from the floor and pulled the P.I up with him before he could get more embarrassed. In fact, he thought Gabe looked kind of cute like this, all flustered and soft with sleep, but he'd never say it out loud.

_Not yet at least._

"Not too long," he reassured, telling himself that the arm he'd thrown around Gabe's shoulder was purely for support purposes, "I got here as fast as I could."

"You're still wet from the rain," Gabe remarked as they entered. He had tucked himself into Sam's side, his golden aura soaking into his ribcage faster than the rain ever could.

The apartment was dark, and cold (which wasn't anything new, but Sam had secretly been hoping to return to the sauna again), but the half-curtained windows revealed that the rain had gotten worse. It was coming down in sporadic bursts that beat against the windowpanes, driven this way and that by gusts of wind.

Sam tried not to read too much into Gabe's proximity, but when it became clear that the P.I wasn't going to detach himself anytime soon, he led them to the couch. He wasn't sure if it was because Gabe was tired and wasn't aware of what he was doing or if he _really_ wanted to, but Sam couldn't bring himself to care. Gabe was warm and a comfortable weight against his side.

They collapsed onto the couch, which groaned dangerously beneath their combined weight. Gabe moved away from him a little as they got settled in, but their legs remained pressed together as they both just _sat_ for a moment and collected their respective minds.

"Tonight…was a _long_ night," Gabe finally said, turning his head just enough to look over at Sam, who mimicked him, "Any chance I can get some coffee before I regale you with the details?"

"In a second," Sam murmured.

He hadn't bothered to turn on any of the lights on the way in, so Gabe's eyes were the brightest thing in the room beside his aura. As always, they managed to draw Sam in, and he gazed unabashedly for a long moment.

Gabe gazed back, quickly going from confused to something more earnest and awake. His aura began to flare with life and shimmery shades of color, eyes sparking to match.

"Like what you see?" he teased.

Sam blinked, then blushed as he realized that Gabe was now more than aware that he wasn't staring accidentally. However, he didn't shy away from the flirtatious comment as he'd done in the past.

"Yes," he replied honestly (and oh God, what was he _thinking_?), "I'm going to go make that coffee now."

It wasn't quite the way Sam wanted to handle things, but he could feel his ears burning from embarrassment, and he didn't want to see the look on Gabe's face. He wasn't feeling _that_ confident yet, but as he made his way into the kitchen, he took great pleasure in the shock he could feel from his aura.

_Did I shock him into silence?_

A quick glance up from the coffee machine confirmed that he indeed had. Gabe was staring at him as if he'd knocked the whole world off-balance, a small, dreamy smile on his face. Sam ducked his head like a grade schoolgirl caught looking at her crush.

"Do you want your coffee the usual way?" he asked, voice a little louder than usual to cover up the fact that his whole face felt very pink. This felt like an extreme overreaction on his part, but dammit he couldn't help himself! It had been a long time (maybe _too_ long) since he'd decided to put himself out there.

"Yeah," Gabe replied faintly before the couch creaked, indicating he'd gotten up, "But extra sugar."

_Extra what?_

"Extra- Gabe, do you _want_ to get diabetes?" Sam asked incredulously.

"I need it to get myself going!" Gabe exclaimed, gesturing to his rumpled clothes and ruffled hair. "I may look like a mess right now, but that doesn't mean I have to _feel_ like one."

Sam tilted his head in confusion, only seeing the cuter aspects of Gabe's appearance. The P.I rolled his eyes and rummaged through his bag before pulling out his black journal.

"I know you have a grungy, plaid and leather style going on, but I like to look a bit more put together," he muttered under his breath.

"You look more than alright to me," Sam replied, feeling more and more confused by the second. He couldn't make heads or tails of the pink pastel hues coursing through Gabe's aura, "But you can always take a shower or something if you want."

Gabe looked up and opened his mouth to no doubt retort with something witty, but before he could, a rumble of thunder cut him off.

The pair looked at the window on instinct, and Gabe sighed, waving a dismissive hand.

"It's alright; we don't have much time anyway," he said, flipping open the journal, "As we speak, the FBI is being called in."

Sam's stomach twisted. Whatever had happened to Olsen must've been bad if the LPD had finally decided (or been forced by higher authorities) to hand over the reins. Running circles around the LPD with their own private investigation was one thing, but working underneath the noses of the FBI?

_Talk about going from the frying pan and into the fire._

He busied himself with preparing two cups of coffee as Gabe wrote something down frantically from his phone. John had taught him how to deal with authorities of all sorts and how to work around them if necessary, but it had been a long time since then, and Sam was a lot more apprehensive about the FBI than the LPD. For one, they tended to be more competent and had a long track record of being very unforgiving of anyone mucking up their investigations.

"Hey, don't look like that kiddo," Gabe said, looking up as Sam walked around the bar to sit by his side, "We still have a few cards up our sleeve."

Sam's face must've betrayed some of his doubt because Gabe tsked and turned to face him.

"I've worked with the FBI before," he stated, "They won't take over this investigation automatically, no matter what it looks like on the news. There's always paperwork, and the FBI have to get everything useful from the LPD's taskforce and figure out who to work with _before_ they can really take over. That'll take the whole day at least, maybe even longer if good ol' Bela drags her feet out of pure spite."

She probably would. Sam had never met Bela Talbot, but just knew she'd be the type to hang onto the investigation, and felt his hopes perk up a little bit more.

"But what can we do today?" he asked. He'd long ago learned that a day wasn't ever as much time as one needed when something important needed to get done, and catching a serial killer fell into the 'important' category.

At this, Gabe smiled and gripped his shoulder. It should've been an ordinary platonic gesture, but the warm gold aura that accompanied his hand had Sam paying rapt attention. Neither of them had had their coffee yet, but a burst of energy ran through them regardless, ignited by Gabe's sudden burst of vigor.

"I've got a way into the crime scene," he said almost breathlessly; that's how _excited_ he was, "Jody and Donna can get us twenty minutes, and someone they know might be able to get us information on how The Crucifier is doing all his tech work."

Sam couldn't help it. His curiosity was growing by the second to match Gabe's, and a dash of the old thrill of crime-solving returned. Sneaking into a crime scene? This wasn't going to be like visiting the café Reynolds had been killed in; this scene would still be active no doubt, and they'd have to be careful.

_One of these days I'm going to look back on all this and wonder what the hell I was thinking._

However, at the moment, Sam didn't particularly care. Technically, this wouldn't be his first time entering a crime scene he wasn't supposed to. John had covered all of the bases back in the day, and he'd ducked under many a line of yellow tape during his training. Those had been lackadaisically guarded by the LPD though, or crime scenes that had already been mostly processed and just had the tape up to keep nosy civilians out. Sam had never entered a crime scene that was (or would be, depending on how quickly things went) in the FBI's jurisdiction.

_Well, there's a first time for everything._

"But first, _coffee_," Gabe said, already eyeing the sugar jar Sam had brought over just for him.

As soon as his hand left Sam's shoulder, the sense of thrill ebbed away with the P.I's aura. It was still there but lessened to a more rational degree, and Sam found himself missing it as he watched Gabe stir an ungodly amount of sugar into his already sweetened coffee. Life went by at a much more interesting rate when Gabe's aura came into play.

"If you stir any more sugar in, you'll just have a cup of coffee-flavored sugar," Sam said, taking the jar away.

"And what's wrong with that?" he asked. He didn't move to take the jar back though, much to Sam's relief.

"Nothing, except for slow death by clogged arteries."

Gabe grumbled but didn't snark back as he flipped through his journal.

"I guess I should start with how everyone found out Olsen disappeared. She'd gone, against police recommendation, to a late-night staff meeting on campus, and we've pegged the location she disappeared as a side street about halfway between campus and her residence."

"She went by _herself_?" Sam asked incredulously.

Gabe nodded, "Yup. Apparently, she didn't put much stock into the idea that the killer could be after her, so she gave the patrol assigned to her the slip so she could 'get back to work'. Our guy got her about a block from the subway station she left and did it fast."

"How did he get into the library? Wasn't it being guarded or something?"

"I'm getting there, hold on!" Gabe said, gesturing for him to have some patience. "It took the patrol about 45 minutes for them to realize that Olsen had gone missing, and everyone got mobilized. The library was considered as an option, but since it was being watched by both a foot patrol and some members of campus security, nobody additional was sent. The Crucifier hasn't repeated a crime scene before, so no one thought he'd go back."

"Well, where _else_ would he have taken her? Olsen hardly ever left the place," Sam grumbled, a bit irked by the LPD's logic. He could see their thought process, but any of the officers that had to interact with Olsen would've agreed with him when he said that she only ever thought about work and the WM library.

"Hindsight is 20/20," Gabe sighed, "I found out when Jody called me. She wanted me to unofficially join the search, since finding things, and people is what I'm good at."

"Really?" Sam asked. He'd never thought of Gabe having specializations besides being good at solving homicides. But then, he _was_ a P.I, and P.I's didn't tend to work alongside the police.

"I'm a great tracker. Ever since I was a kid I always had a knack for finding lost things," Gabe said, smiling a bit as he spoke. His aura reflected the pride he had in his skill, "Jewelry, pets, phones. Stolen items, even missing people. I can put together a timeline pretty well, and 9 times out of 10 I can locate whatever's missing. I don't really get a chance to market that skill though, because networking is hard when you're nomadic."

Sam nodded. In a sad way, it made sense. The skill that had most likely driven Gabe to become a P.I in the first place was the one he employed the least. Sure, there were multiple ways he could put it to use when solving more serious crimes, but it surely wasn't the same as finding Fido for a desperate pet owner. Fido wasn't nearly as dangerous as a serial killer.

"Did you track them to the library?"

Gabe looked up sharply from his (now almost empty) coffee cup, gold eyes narrowed and a bit surprised.

"Yeah…how'd you know?"

Sam shrugged, "You don't do things by half, and if _Jody_ believes you're a good tracker, then you must be the best tracker in Lawrence. So, you tracked them to the library."

Making the conclusion was a leap Sam felt confident in. Gabe had impressed him with his P.I skills early on, and every display of his cleverness while they worked only served to increase Sam's faith in his abilities. He may not look or act like most people imagined a P.I would, but that didn't mean Gabe wasn't a damn good one.

Gabe turned a shade of pink Sam had never seen on him before, and he smiled as the P.I hurriedly hid his face with his mug.

"Keep the compliments in check, Winchester," he said gruffly, but Sam could tell by his peachy yellow aura that he was more than pleased by what he'd said.

"I _did_ eventually track them to the library," Gabe said after a dramatic throat clearing, "At first, I sort of just drove outward from the subway station, tuning into the police scanner to see who was where, but…I don't know, none of my P.I senses were tingling, so I decided to give the campus a shot."

"A shot in the dark?"

Sam didn't think it had been, but he wanted to hear what Gabe's process was. His aura was doing something very strange towards his back, right about where his shoulder blades were, and it was making him insanely curious. He could only see a bit of it since the P.I was mostly turned towards him, but when Gabe turned back to set his mug on the counter, Sam could see more clearly.

The colors grew staticky the closer they got to Gabe's back, whirling around in loops of white and gold so tight it made an indistinguishable pattern. Sam only managed a glimpse before Gabe turned back around, but he didn't have to look for much longer to know what it was.

Some people had better instincts than others, and it showed through their auras in specific places. Sam had never seen someone's manifest from their shoulder blades before, but Gabe was one in a million across the board when it came to his aura.

_I wonder if his instinct being tied to his shoulder blades has anything to do with the wing thing he has going on._

"Sometimes I'll get this vibe that I should go look somewhere, even though it seems completely illogical," the P.I admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, "Sort of like gut instinct, but not really? It's never failed me before though, so when I got the urge to check the library…"

"You went," Sam finished, settling back onto his stool.

"When I arrived, there was no one in the campus security office, and the two LPD officers they had patrolling the library were knocked out and tied up. And before you ask, no, I have no idea how he got the best of them. Campus security had been lured out to the complete opposite side of campus by a false report of some shenanigans going on at a dorm building."

"Makes sense. Security would be too much for even him to handle personally," Sam commented, "Did you go in?"

Gabe shook his head with a shiver. His aura dimmed, and Sam leaned forward, frowning in concern.

"God, this is going to make me sound like a coward, but…I hesitated," he admitted, dragging his finger along the edge of the counter and keeping his eyes firmly fixed on it, "Something felt very, very _off_ about the whole place. I've never hesitated in breaching a building before when necessary, but this time? Sam, it felt different. It felt _evil_."

Evil.

This wasn't the first time the word had been thrown around in the investigation before. The Crucifier, or Death, had about as evil an aura as they could come, and the atrocities he was committing could certainly be classified as evil. He never thought he'd hear _Gabe_ say it with such fearful conviction. Hell, Gabe didn't sound like that with anything really. He had one of the biggest backbones Sam knew of and didn't back down from anything easily.

Everyone got scared though, and there was no denying the instinctive fear in Gabe's eyes. It was like that saying about looking into abysses and being wary of the abyss looking back. For Gabe, the abyss was beginning to look back, and despite his incredibly tenacious nature, the responding wariness and fear on his part was inevitable.

Sam wasn't sure how he would've gotten through all the visions he'd had of Death without the sheer amount of willpower he exerted daily, so he didn't blame Gabe for being scared. He never blamed anyone for such a thing, because fear could keep a person alive, and only a completely emotionless person could somehow _not_ fear a serial killer.

He was up and out of his stool before he registered what he was doing, arms looping around Gabe's shoulders and drawing him in close. Gabe didn't hesitate in opening his legs to make room for Sam, his own arms coming up to wrap around his waist.

It was an odd position for a hug with their height difference, but Sam could care less as he carded his hand tentatively through Gabe's hair. His aura was wavery and pale, and Sam hated seeing it like that. Gabe held on tight, clearly not minding being smothered at all.

"There's nothing wrong with being scared," Sam said quietly, bending his head and pressing his cheek to Gabe's hair, light for a moment to let him pull away if he wanted to. He didn't, so he turned his face a bit and tucked his chin properly over Gabe's head.

Gabe inhaled, then spoke in so muffled a voice that if Sam hadn't been listening, he wouldn't have heard him.

"I'm glad I met you."

The words shouldn't have pleased him as much as they did, but his heart skipped a beat in his suddenly swelling chest. A warm feeling rose up and up until he felt as if he would burst, but all he did was squeeze Gabe a bit tighter and whisper back.

"I'm glad I met you too."

A deep rumble of thunder brought an end to the moment, but it didn't feel awkward separating at all. Gabe's aura was back to a lively shade of gold, and Sam felt safe to draw his stool up closer to entangle his legs with Gabe. They'd crossed a physical line with each other, and while they still had some ways to go towards a proper relationship, Sam felt sure he wouldn't be rejected.

"What time was that around?" Sam gently asked, redirecting them back towards the original conversation.

"Around 3. While I busied myself with reporting the downed officers and trying to figure out what the hell happened with campus security, the LPD arrived on the scene," Gabe continued, toying with his mug, "I think Jody and Donna were the first to enter, and I think whatever they saw convinced them."

"Of what?"

Gabe set his mug down carefully and looked at him seriously. It wasn't the most serious he'd ever seen the P.I, but Sam perked up regardless.

"That the LPD needed help. Whether it was me or the FBI; I don't know, but whatever The Crucifier did, it certainly convinced the right administrator to phone the FBI."

Sam frowned, "You don't know what he did exactly inside WM?"

Gabe shook his head, "I could've slipped in easily with all the chaos, and I _should've_, but-well…"

"The evil feeling," Sam summarized, earning a brief nod from the P.I and a sheepish shrug.

"Jody and Donna are going to let me flip through the files they have and see what I can come up with sometime soon," he said, "They've probably moved Olsen by now, but I've heard they still have a number of people roaming about to try and figure out what route The Crucifier could've taken to get around campus undetected."

"There are a few ways," Sam said with a snort, "Ask the right people, and look in the right places, and it's easy to figure out where the cameras are and aren't. But I guess the options get limited when you've got a corpse with you."

The truth was, Death's transportation method still bugged Sam. He had the sense that it was right under his nose, but whatever it was continued to elude him. Sam wasn't sure if it was as high up on Gabe's priority list to figure out, but with the most recent vision he'd had, the question had resurfaced.

_He has a hiding place in the sewers. But why the sewers of all places?_

"We've got to get going, Sam-a-lam," Gabe said, interrupting Sam's train of thought (the answer was _right there_, he just knew it!), "I don't want to get rained on any more than necessary."

As if on cue, thunder rumbled overhead. Gabe shot him a 'see-what-I-mean?' look, and Sam rolled his eyes before draining his mug. He'd give the transportation conundrum more thought later.

"Alright, but if you try to pull _any_ harebrained maneuvers on the road, I'll make you pull over so I can drive."

"Bold of you to assume you can even squeeze those mile-long legs beneath the steering wheel," Gabe retorted with a smirk and a more than noticeable stripe of cherry red in his aura. It didn't help that his eyes were drifting up and down their entangled legs.

Sam couldn't even blame his rising flush on the heat of the apartment (damn his finicky heater!). He ducked his head and stood as quickly as he could, the loss of Gabe's aura tingling across his skin.

"If you don't hurry up, I won't let you duck under my umbrella."

_That_ took the air out of Gabe's sails pretty quickly, and Sam prided himself on winning that particular round of banter between them. It wasn't every day he could shut Gabe up so effectively.

The sweet taste of victory only lasted until they reached the elevator.

"On second thought, you can have the umbrella to yourself Sammo. You're so tall you might make an enticing path for lightning, and while I wouldn't blame it for doing so, because you _are_ pretty enticing, I'd rather not be in proximity for that."

Gabe's face was the perfect picture of nonchalant innocence as he spoke, but his eyes and cherry red aura gave away the fact that he was completely aware of what he was doing.

_It's going to be a long car ride._

…

Jody and Donna were waiting for them in the shelter of the same gazebo Sam had met Kevin in earlier that week. The rain was now coming down in a constant sheet of water that had encouraged Gabe to rummage around for an umbrella in the mess his backseat contained (Sam had been too distracted by Gabe's flirting and had forgotten to grab his on the way out). The umbrella was bright red and made them stand out like a sore thumb but invading each other's personal space in an attempt to fit underneath it was enjoyable.

"Give us the deets, o wondrous ladies of the law!" Gabe said once they were in the gazebo, peeling himself from Sam's side to gesture grandly at the women.

"Good morning to you too, Gabe," Donna said wryly. Her peach aura was laced with exhaustion, but she managed a wan smile. Sam didn't think the bubbly detective could go a day without one.

"You brought Sam along," Jody remarked, dark eyes surveying him. There was no accusation in her tone, but there was an edge of wariness regardless.

_Because she knows who I am, _Sam thought, remembering the bombshell Gabe had dropped in Dean's living room about his mother, _Donna doesn't really care, but Jody's still a little hung up about it._

Sam couldn't really blame her. From the outside, it probably looked strange that he was working with Gabe on a serial killer case when he already had one serial killer in his past. It was the reason why he rarely told anyone about it. Being involved in any sort of way with a serial killer tainted you in people's eyes, and Sam didn't want Yellow Eyes affecting his life more than he already had.

_And yet here I am getting caught up in round 2 of Lawrence vs serial killer. No wonder she's weirded out._

"Of course I did. He's my partner," Gabe responded, still smiling. His aura turned flinty though, reflecting the sudden hardness in his eyes.

Jody and Gabe stared at each other for a long, tense moment. Sam eyed the pair nervously, but Donna didn't seem to be worried much.

"It's good to see you've ditched the lone wolf act," she suddenly said, her ramrod straight back relaxing slightly, "Even if your partner is a civilian."

"He's ten times better than half the people on the force," Gabe retorted, "I'd rather work with him than anyone else, and besides, you know _I'm_ technically a civilian in the eyes of the law too."

Jody grunted noncommittally. Something eased in her dark green aura, and Sam realized that she too didn't really care about his past. She was just testing Gabe's resolve, and he'd passed.

_Phew. That could've been bad._

"I know we said we could get you into the crime scene, but it's not looking good right now," she said, changing the subject, "They're taking longer to process the scene than we thought they would."

"They say the chief himself is coming down," Donna added in a hushed tone.

Sam figured they wouldn't see the crime scene on the walk over as the WM library was crawling like a beehive with activity, but he still slumped slightly with disappointment. He could've gotten a read on Death's aura for sure, and while he wasn't sure how he'd go about surreptitiously following the trail without looking crazy to Gabe, it would've been _something_.

_Dammit, now what?_

Gabe openly frowned. It was clear he wasn't very happy that they'd driven all this way in the rain just to be told that getting onto the crime scene was a no go.

"What about your contact?" he asked, and Jody jerked her head towards the path behind them.

"Coming in right now."

The duo turned to look as a girl with red hair came jogging up, backpack held over her head in a vain attempt to ward off the rain. She looked vaguely familiar, and as she came closer, Sam recognized her as the same girl that had been outside of the WM the day he'd been trapped inside with Kevin and Adam.

"Am I late? Cause if I am, it's not my fault!" she exclaimed, skidding into the gazebo. She had bright green eyes and a dark teal aura that betrayed her enthusiastic nature. Her Converse shoes were soaked through and she had no jacket, but none of this seemed to bother her at all.

"Boys, meet Charlie. She'll be helping us out today," Donna said with an indulgent smile to the redhead.

"Supposedly. I still don't know _how_ you know what you know," Jody interjected sternly.

Charlie shrugged a shoulder lackadaisically before her eyes slid to Sam.

"Word gets around campus, and my ears are finely tuned to catch all the gossip," she replied while looking at him, "You're Dean's brother, right?"

"You know Dean?" Sam asked, confused. Charlie didn't come off as the type of person Dean would know (she was too young and sweet, and judging by her merch a hardcore geek), but then, his brother knew all sorts of people.

"I've helped him out with computer issues," she replied, her expression turning curious, "He talks about you a lot, but I think you already know that."

If her aura hadn't flared, Sam might've believed her perfectly innocent-sounding explanation. Between that and her clear connection to Jody and Donna though, Sam knew it wasn't too hard to infer that Charlie walked a fine line when it came to the technological world.

_She must be a great hacker if Dean's called her up._

"If you know a Winchester, then you're trustworthy enough," Gabe proclaimed before squinting slightly at her, "But it also throws your sanity into question."

Charlie didn't seem too offended by Gabe's blunt assessment of her. If anything, she seemed downright _pleased_, her smile wide and white.

"I could say the same about you, Gabriel Milton," she retorted, "In fact, you must be more insane than _me_ if you've made Sam your lifetime partner in crimefighting. Winchesters are great, don't get me wrong, but they're definitely something else dude."

There was so much to unwrap in Charlie's words that Sam wasn't really sure _what_ to address first if he was even supposed to address anything at all.

_Lifetime?_

Gabe didn't seem to know either (his face for some reason had turned very pink), but the crackle of the detectives' radios saved them from having to formulate a response.

"Mills, Hanscum, we need you down here ASAP. Chief's here."

Jody unclipped her radio in a practiced motion and responded with, "On our way."

"It's never good when the chief shows up," Donna remarked anxiously before turning to Charlie, "Do you mind showing the boys what you told us? I know this wasn't what you were expecting…"

"No problem," Charlie interrupted, brushing off the detective's concern, "In fact, it's probably better that I just bring them. They'll stand out less where we're going."

"As long as you don't do anything extremely illegal," Jody said sternly.

"Cross my heart," the redhead responded solemnly, doing just that with her finger. Her aura, on the other hand, flashed a sharper, bluer color that told Sam she was definitely _not_ planning on keeping the promise.

Jody seemed to know this but only threw Charlie one last warning gaze before she left with her partner.

As soon as they were gone, Charlie took off like a rocket. Sam and Gabe barely had time to exchange a befuddled look before they hustled after her, scrambling to duck underneath the umbrella as the redhead forged her way through the rain.

"I love your enthusiasm Charlie, but…where are we going exactly?" Gabe asked as they managed to catch up to her.

"The security office," she said, not slowing a bit. Her pace was impressive considering her footwear, which squelched with every step she took, "I think I know how The Crucifier controlled all the library's systems."

Gabe promptly tripped over a crack in the sidewalk at her announcement, and Sam had to grab him by the collar to keep him from eating pavement. He kept his arm around Gabe's shoulders to keep him from tripping again, and if it pulled them closer, then that was just pure coincidence.

"Thanks, Sammo," the P.I said distractedly, "A little warning next time before you drop bombshells like that, Red?"

"4/10 for the lack of creativity in that nickname," Charlie said without skipping a bit, "But I'm serious! When I tried to get the doors open and couldn't that day at the WM, it got me thinking, because there's only one way he could've done it the way that he did."

The security office was a squat, one-story building set back quite a bit from the main campus paths. It was easy to pass by if one didn't know where it was, but Charlie didn't miss a single step as she began to walk alongside the building.

"Around to the back we go, just in case," she said, pulling out what looked like a completely average student ID. It proved itself to be anything but when it somehow managed to open a door Sam knew students couldn't access.

"Does Jody know about that?" Gabe asked as Charlie shoved the door open, and she shrugged.

"My skeleton key of sorts is a trademark secret. And before you ask, yes, our dude probably has one of these, but no, these aren't very hard to make or obtain."

"Really?" Sam asked as they walked down an empty hall. It was vaguely reminiscent of the main campus office, except this was much smaller and smelled staler.

"If you're a decent hacker, then you can modify a keycard easily," she explained, pausing to peek into a dark room before leading them in, "Administrators even have master keys, and if you can get your hands on one it's even easier to make the necessary changes from there."

Charlie plopped down in front of a computer and pulled up the login system Sam and everybody on campus, both students and faculty, were familiar with.

"The Crucifier killed Reynold and used his login information as a piggyback to get into the system," she said, swinging her ID card, "Before Reynold died, he owned a master key."

"Why? Wasn't he just a professor?" Gabe asked.

"He also taught a lot of classes in different places," Sam said, nearly slapping his forehead as he made the connection, "He didn't have one set classroom, even if he taught in the lecture hall the most. He probably got tired of being locked out of buildings past the official operating hours and bullied the administration to give him one."

"Hole in one, Winchester," Charlie said as she logged in. Beyond that, Sam couldn't tell what she was doing, as it all turned into complicated black screens of technical stuff he hadn't bothered with in years, "With his keycard and Reynold's login, our psycho had an easy way in. Jody mentioned something about an email being sent from Reynold's email _after_ he was dead, and this is how it was done."

"Right. He just_ logged in_," Gabe muttered, pulling up a chair, "So how did this help him turn the library into his personal playground?"

"This is where I tell you that whoever you're looking for, he's no amateur," Charlie said seriously, pale face grave as she looked up from the computer, "From what I can tell, The Crucifier somehow got into the mainframe for the library's security systems and made himself boss. It's not an impossible thing, but to prevent any hacking attempts like mine, he'd had to have taken Reynold's info and really gone to town."

"Is it like a new login?" Sam asked. He thought he was beginning to grasp what Charlie was getting at (he had been the best 'hacker' out of the Winchester clan after all if he could even call himself that).

"Yes and no," Charlie said vaguely, fingers back to flying across the keyboard, "Yes in that it's a new login, and no in that unlike regular logins, it doesn't appear as itself."

"My head hurts," Gabe complained, rubbing his temples, "In English, please?"

"She's saying that he's logging in with his new login, but that it appears in the system as some preexisting login as a masquerade," Sam clarified.

"_But_ it gives itself away when I go to _where_ the login came from," she said, pointing to a line of code on the screen, "See? It says here some poor student logged in around the time the library fiasco happened, but the location is from a computer at the main circulation desk."

"I'll take your word for it," Gabe quipped, squinting at the screen before his face turned pensive, "It can't be just the weird location giving it away though."

"Oh, of course not. I know that he's hiding in the innocuous login, and I could theoretically track him down that way, but I haven't written a program that can pick up his presence yet," Charlie said with a scowl, "I'm telling you, whoever this guy is, he's either been self-teaching for years or he's taken classes."

_Someone who's at the very least moderately good with computers and obsessed with using an archaic language. There can't be too many people on campus that check off both of those boxes._

Judging by Gabe's expression, he was thinking along the same lines. A noise up at the front of the building cut their meeting short though, with Charlie hurriedly tidying up after them as they slipped out the back.

"There's one more thing you guys should know," she said, leading them to the shelter of an overhang on the building next door, "It has to do with the cameras."

"You know how he's doing his magic trick on that one?"

Charlie shook her head. A bright streak of peach ran across her aura, showing her confusion and frustration on the subject.

"I actually have no idea, but the way he's doing it is really weird. He definitely has the skill required to take down every camera on campus if he wanted to, but he only takes down the ones he feels certain will expose him."

"Only the ones he's certain about?" Gabe asked, a strange glint in his eyes.

Charlie smirked back, and Sam watched with unease as the two began to grin at each other. Out of context, they looked as if they'd just finished pulling off a mastermind plan.

"I've located a camera that may or may not have gotten part of his face. He didn't take that one out because it's at such a weird angle and because it's such poor quality, but I'm hoping I can clean the image up a bit once Jody and Donna get all the law stuff out of the way."

"Excellent," Gabe said, rubbing his hands together gleefully to complete the evil scientist look, "The Crucifier has to mess up at some point, and we're starting to close in."

Sam, while not feeling as confident as Gabe and Charlie about the possibility they'd caught the killer on tape, still couldn't help feeling anticipatory. They were beginning to narrow down their suspect pool, and Gabe was right; one way or another, they were beginning to close in on Death.

They exchanged numbers with an insistent Charlie before parting ways. The wind had grown gusty enough that Sam had to keep a good grip on the umbrella, and Gabe was pressed so close to him that to outsiders, it probably looked as if they were attached at the hip.

"I hate Lawrence's weather," he grumbled, but his aura was bright and happy as he clutched Sam's arm.

"It can be pretty bad- watch out!" he exclaimed as Gabe tripped once again on the sidewalk.

He once again kept Gabe from falling, tugging him back under the umbrella. It was bound to happen with them walking so closely together and their different stride lengths, so Sam kept his hand around Gabe's wrist.

_Just to keep him from tripping again._

"Oops. Guess I'm just in a hurry to get back," Gabe said with a sheepish smile before he slid his hand into Sam's.

Sam's brain came to a grinding halt at the deliberate action. Gabe's hand was warm and softer than his but still callused. His aura made it feel like he was holding pure sunlight in his hand, and he couldn't help but look down at their joined hands to make sure he really wasn't holding a piece of the sun.

"So I don't trip again," Gabe said, attempting to sound confident. There was hesitation in his voice though, as if he thought he'd pushed the boundaries too much and he'd pull away.

_Well, I can't have that happening, _Sam thought as he smiled reassuringly and tugged Gabe closer.

"You _have_ been pretty clumsy today," he remarked, starting up their trek back once more.

Gabe spluttered with indignation, starting another round of amicable bickering. It was a now familiar routine between the two of them, even if trying to push each other out from the measly shelter of the umbrella was new.

Neither of them mentioned the hand-holding for the rest of the walk. By unspoken but mutual accord, they both decided to just enjoy the small comfort they managed to find amid the chaos they'd immersed themselves in.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE

So this didn't get finished before I started college like I wanted, but that's how life goes sometimes. It rained a lot in my area throughout the writing of this chapter, and since I love rain so much, you can see how it affected my writing. Also just want to say that I took extreme creative liberties with Charlie's tech explanations. The fanciest thing I know tech-wise is all the keyboard shortcuts that are useful for writing.

School's going well, but it's very busy for me and I'm not exactly the best at time management, so my posting schedule will probably continue to suffer until winter break. I'm no quitter though, so I'm **not** going MIA. I'll just drop in at the most unexpected times to post, like a weird fairy godmother of sorts. So mote it be!


	9. I'm Only as Real as You Let Me Be

**Chapter 9: I'm Only as Real as You Let Me Be**

It was the wrong season.

That much Sam knew, even before he opened his eyes. The wind wasn't supposed to smell of dying leaves or be so fresh and crisp. In Lawrence, the spring winds still carried the frigid touch of winter.

The part of his brain that insisting this didn't feel right wasn't being very helpful though, so Sam told it to be shut up as he opened his eyes to try and figure out where he was.

He was leaning against a tree in what looked like the edge of some sort of woods; something about the substantial spacing in between the trees told him so. Orange and brown leaves carpeted the soil, covering the gnarled roots and sparse grass in a slowly decaying blanket. Despite the thin tree canopy, Sam couldn't see the sun; just a perfect autumn blue sky that was so blue it hurt.

Considering all of the dreams he'd been having lately, the scenery around him was astonishingly pleasant. Sure, Sam knew that being lucid probably didn't forebode anything good, and there _was_ something uncomfortably familiar about the trees around him, but he wasn't going to stress about that now. The wind felt good against his skin, there was no one in sight that he had to worry about, and best of all, he wasn't 11.

Sam sighed happily, savoring the peace for as long as he could. He didn't get nearly enough of it in his real life, and if he had to get in his from this dream, then so be it.

He managed to savor it for about 30 seconds before his paranoid brain butted in.

_It's not supposed to be autumn. It's supposed to be…_

"Spring. You were my spring baby."

Sam jerked his head upward, startled by the woman standing across from him. He recognized her from pictures, but he thought he would've somehow known who she was from her voice, even if he didn't consciously remember it.

Because didn't everyone remember their mothers in some way, shape or form?

"Hi, Mom," he said, equal parts pleased and confused to see her. He hadn't dreamed of her since he was a child, and never with this sort of clarity.

_I've never seen her aura properly, _he thought, eyes entranced by the colors before him, _Only the ghost of it in pictures._

Pictures never did auras much justice. It twisted and warped them into a desaturated, flat version of themselves, and the same held true for Mary Winchester. The pale, cool tones he thought might've been blues or greens were a far cry from the vivid, dancing green aura that surrounded her. It immediately reminded him of Dean's, but hers was just a touch more on the blue side and radiated such a strong sense of motherhood that there was no doubt she'd loved them dearly.

"Hello Sam," she said, green eyes creasing from the force of her smile. They weren't the same green as Dean's; like her aura, they were bluer.

Sam had never noticed that in the pictures, but maybe it was just his brain conjuring up these tiny little details to make him feel better. He couldn't bring himself to care though, because it was working.

"Are you real?" he blurted out.

An instant later, he regretted asking the question. It was so stupid it didn't even warrant a response, because of _course_ she wasn't real, but she only tilted her head and started walking towards him.

"I'm only as real as you let me be."

A confusing answer, but then, Sam wasn't sure what he'd expected from her. This was just a dream after all.

"I…well, you're dead, so you can only be real to a certain degree," he said if only to continue the conversation with her. Sam was reluctant to wake from this strange autumnal dream world.

"I am dead," she confirmed, and with such conviction that Sam knew on some instinctive level that she was right.

There'd been theories or rather whimsical hopes they'd never properly expressed, that maybe Yellow Eyes hadn't gotten to her. John had never said them, but Dean had said it aloud a few times when he was really hurting from the idea of their mom being dead. Mary abandoning them was an awful idea, but at least then she would be alive, and wasn't that better than dead?

_Maybe, maybe not. It doesn't matter now though._

Those slim hopes he'd secretly harbored died in his chest with her words. They'd been slowly disintegrating for years, so their death was more of a final laying to rest than anything jarring or painful, but it still _hurt_.

Sam dug his fingers through the dead leaves beneath him and tried to find some satisfaction in the crunch they made so he wouldn't have to focus on the ache he felt. It was like she'd died all over again, and the person standing before him was just some elaborate phantom come to haunt him.

Mary stopped a few feet away, her smile turning sad at the edges. Her dress was more suited to summer than the fall, but it burned as blue as the sky above as it swished around her knees.

"Just because I'm dead doesn't mean I'm all the way gone," she said softly, head bowed a bit to look at him, "My love still lives, through you and Dean and John. My memory lives on too in this place, through violence."

_Violence._

The word made Sam's stomach sink. Suddenly, the trees surrounding him didn't seem so ordinary. This was no picturesque autumn day or a refuge from the dark visions he was subjected to. He'd been a fool to let his guard down here.

_This is it. This is where it all happened._

Mary reached an arm out to brush against a spot of bark right over his head. She smelled of the perfume John still kept a bottle of that he thought his sons didn't know of and something else, something cold and dead that he didn't want to put a name too.

"I wanted to take you out to the park. Just a walk around the block, because it was so warm and I thought the air would do you some good," she said dreamily, almost in a trance-like state as she stepped away a bit, "Just a walk through the park."

Sam shivered, goosebumps prickling his skin. He didn't dare look up to see what he knew would be Yellow Eye's mark carved in the bark above him.

"Mom?"

Mary blinked hard before gripping the skirt of her dress, brow creasing as her aura curled in on itself like a dying flower.

"He caught up to me," she murmured, the wind blowing her hair over her face and obscuring her features, "I almost thought I'd gotten away from him."

The perfect October sky suddenly turned flat and gray, dimming their surroundings and sucking all the color out of the leaves. Sam scrambled to his feet, wary at the sudden change and cursing himself for getting caught up by his mother's unexpected presence.

"Mom, what am I doing here?" he asked, trying to sound as calm as possible.

Mary looked up at him, eyes wide and dark. She looked _scared_, and Sam quickly realized why as the trees contorted and stretched over them, shrinking in on them.

_Something's coming._

"I'm only as real as you let me be, Sam," she repeated, voice brittle as she tried, and failed, to smile. Gone was any sense of vitality; Mary was hollow and pale now, a mere wisp of a person.

Sam wavered, unsure what she was trying to say if he was even supposed to get any sort of meaning from her words at all. The atmosphere had turned ominous around them, but he wasn't sure what it was leading up to, and it made him nervous.

Footsteps crunched through leaves in the distance, and they both whipped their heads around to face the approaching sound. They were heavy footfalls, haphazardly placed as they sloshed through the leaves.

She shoved him forward with more strength than he thought she possessed, urging him onward away from the footsteps.

"Be careful," she said, words pouring out of her in a rush now as she kept urging him back, "Be mindful, and be smart. Don't lose track of your head or your heart, because you'll need both soon. I hid you from him, but I can't hide you forever."

The footsteps were getting closer, now crunching deliberately as a rough, raspy voice floated through the trees. It said nothing intelligible, but it triggered such a horrible rush of ice water fear down Sam's spine that he couldn't help but cling to his mother.

_Yellow Eyes._

"Don't leave me," he begged. He wasn't 11 in this awful dream, but he might as well have been in that moment, "Mom, please don't go."

Mary's hands were like bone when they gripped his face, searing a coldness into her face that didn't match the fire in her eyes.

"I _have_ to, but you're not alone," she whispered fiercely before letting go, "You're never alone."

She let go of his face, and between one blink and the next, she was gone. Not even a single trace of her aura marked where she'd stood.

Sam pressed his hands to his cheeks to preserve the cold touch she'd left behind, breath ragged and eyes wild as he looked around for any sight of Yellow Eyes. The fear threatened to swamp him, and it took all his self-control to not cry out for his mother.

_She's gone. She can't help me now._

His training seemed to have abandoned him here as Mary had; his mind was devoid of anything useful. All he had was the fear and the horrible knowledge that the footsteps belonged to the madman that had ruined his life.

A small flock of birds broke through tops of the trees, cawing raucously. They'd been disturbed by someone, and that someone was _close_.

Sam ran.

Logic seemed to have flown from his head the instant he'd heard those footsteps, and Sam didn't have time to get it back. Yellow Eyes was approaching, and he had no intention of coming face to face with the monster.

"_Saaaaaaaam. _Where are you?"

The voice seeped between the tree trunks and echoed into the darkening sky, making it hard to pinpoint where it was coming from. The crashing footsteps were behind him though and quickly gaining.

But where could he go? Sam had no idea how to get out of the suddenly vast woods (dammit, hadn't these woods been part of a suburban park?), and his limbs suddenly felt as heavy as stone.

"No, no, _no_," he mumbled frantically as his legs seemed to slow of their own accord. It was like trying to stride through molasses or wet cement.

"I'll catch up to you, Saaaaaaam. You can't hide from me anymore!"

It took a Herculean effort to wrench himself free from the slow, syrupy feeling that had washed over his body, but Sam still had enough willpower to do it. Fear may have been clouding his mind, but it also acted as a strong motivator, and he wanted to _get away_.

Trees passed in dark blurs on either side of him as he picked up speed, oblivious to the chase taking place. His breath burned in his lungs and came out in sharp bursts, but Sam didn't contemplate pausing to rest. The footsteps were keeping up with him, and Yellow Eyes was now close enough that he could hear him _breathing_, panting like a dog on a hunt.

_And I'm the prey._

The color appeared in his peripheral vision, pale and lively, and if it hadn't stuck out so much against the murky grays and browns the woods had become, Sam would've missed it.

It was gold though, and all his terrified mind could think of was _Gabe_.

Sam veered towards it so abruptly that he sent up a stream of leaves in his wake and stumbled. A heart-stopping stab of fear almost paralyzed him as half his body met the ground (this was _it_; Yellow Eyes would pounce on him now), but he got back up in a flash and chased after the gold.

An enraged howl that barely sounded human echoed behind him, raising the hairs on his skin. Yellow Eyes obviously didn't want him following the path the gold patches of light marked out for him, and the only reason Sam's one-track mind could manage to come up with was that this must be the way out.

The gold flickered and chimed softly as Sam passed them by, the patches growing in frequency the farther he followed them. Yellow Eyes was still hounding him, but with an exhilarated rush, Sam realized he was falling behind.

_You're never alone._

Sam thought he understood his mother's parting words as he ran through a warm, rejuvenating patch of gold. A second later, he heard a cry of pain behind him as the gold burned Yellow Eyes.

"You can't get away from me! I'll catch you!"

He hadn't called out his name in that horrible drawl, and Sam never wanted to hear him say it again. If he ran hard enough, he could make sure of it.

The trees began to grow sparser; the path clearer as the soil grew more compact. A different voice spoke somewhere in the distance, lost to the white fog alight with inner shades of gold ahead. Sam couldn't make out distinct words, or how far away he was from the end (distance and time were vague concepts here), but it didn't matter. He could tell it was Gabe's voice, even if it was still distant and weak, and it was a godsend in this hellish landscape.

"Gabe!" he cried, nearly forgetting about Yellow Eyes as he ran towards his voice. He was so _close_ to him; all he had to do was run a little further and tumble into all that dancing gold.

Yellow Eyes hadn't forgotten about him though.

Fingers tangled in the back of his collar. Sam gasped as it dragged him backward away from Gabe's voice and down into an endless, gaping maw of sulfur-scented darkness.

"_Gotcha_."

He screamed, and the fingers that had a grip on him loosened up just long enough for him to get a choked breath in and fall away-

…

Sam gasped, flailing wildly as he jerked awake. An October wind followed him into waking, blowing across his skin like a kiss of death, following his still tumbling mind. He wasn't out of the woods quite yet.

"Sam!"

Someone grabbed his hands, and for a second, they felt like his mother's cold, bony hands. Sam flinched, eyes squeezed shut as he lashed out with his arms and bucked, trying to ground himself in something, _anything_.

_Where's Gabe?_

"Hey, hey, I'm right here," a frantic voice said, responding as if he'd spoken aloud. Maybe he had. Sam wasn't sure of anything right now.

Warm hands encircled his wrists, gripping firmly enough to cut through the awful falling sensation he couldn't quite shake.

"I'm right here, kiddo. Can you hear me? It was just a bad dream, I promise."

A hand curled through his hair, smoothing damp strands out of the way as the other moved to untangle the knots of sheets (because those were sheets, not gnarled tree roots) that had his legs trapped.

Sam wanted assurance of that promise because that dream had felt more real than this. He was more used to the bad life had to offer, not gentle, caring hands pulling him from a nightmare.

Warmth soothed his clammy skin, and he couldn't push himself away from the person even if he wanted to. Sam burrowed towards it, pressing his face against a solid body that didn't smell of sulfur or dead leaves. A part of him told him that he was being weak right now, but that didn't stop him from throwing his arms around the welcome comfort of a familiar person and trying to hide from the last of the nightmare.

"Gabe?"

There really was no question it was him, as Sam knew of no one else that felt like _this_, but he had to ask just to make sure.

"It's me, Sam," Gabe breathed, pulling him closer. The way he said his name was so much better than the drawn-out sing-song call of Yellow Eyes, and even the sad/happy way his mother had said it.

Sam made a content sound, shivering as he tucked his face just beneath Gabe's collarbone and felt the man's heartbeat beneath his skin, alive and well. He didn't dare open his eyes in case this was all just another illusion made by his brain.

_Or maybe it's not._

"Is this real?"

He mumbled the question into bare skin and felt Gabe shift from the touch. Sam pulled away slightly in apology, but Gabe nudged him back and clinched his arms tighter around him.

"This is real," he confirmed, "Yellow Eyes can't get you here."

The hand stroking his hair felt convincing enough. Sam sighed and slumped in surrender, lulled halfway back to sleep by Gabe's presence.

"That's good…" he murmured, his breathing slowly syncing with the rise and fall of Gabe's chest, "He killed Mom, and he almost got me…"

Gabe might've said something, but he was too far gone to hear. He was too exhausted to stay awake, and he felt safe falling asleep now that Gabe was near.

Sleep was peaceful this time, and Sam dreamt of nothing except for soft velvet blackness interspersed by gold flashes of light.

…

Sometime later, Sam woke to the sound of a thunderstorm outside and the warmth of someone familiar snoring softly by his side.

He looked down curiously at Gabe, stroking his hand down his back. At some point, their positions had been reversed, so Gabe's face was pressed against _his_ chest. A lazy arm was draped over his waist, fingers grazing the small of his back with a slack grip of sleep. They were squished together so close that Sam thought he'd become part of Gabe's aura. It draped over him like sunshine and tasted sweeter than honey, making him feel warm and satisfied in a way he hadn't felt in a long time.

Gabe shifted, mumbling something indecipherable. His messy hair drifted across Sam's face, and the sight of it was so cute that Sam couldn't help but grin and tuck his chin carefully over the top of his head. He wasn't sure how long he had left before Gabe woke up, so he'd enjoy the time he had.

He'd nearly forgotten how it felt to sleep next to someone he was attracted to.

_This is real._

The thought brought back a half-formed memory, one from the night before. Gabe had said it to him, hadn't he? Along with something else…

Sulfur. Lamp-like yellow eyes, and a sky too blue to be real outside of a dream or nightmare.

Sam shivered, pressing just a bit closer to Gabe as he recalled fragments of the nightmare he'd had. He couldn't remember all of it, but he could clearly remember what his mother had looked like and the terror of the chase. The fear had been overwhelming, to the point of being almost unnatural in its intensity. Sam couldn't recall ever feeling so scared in his life, and he'd had many instances where he'd felt fear.

He'd dreamed of Yellow Eyes before, and his mother, but those had been fragmented nightmares from when he was much younger and didn't really understand what had happened. Never had he had Yellow Eyes chase him or his mother speak to him either, which made the whole thing even odder. Why would he have such an intense dream now?

_It can't be a vision; visions show the future, not a warped retelling of the past._

"But dead is dead," Sam whispered, a tiny piece clicking as he recalled one of the many odd phrases John used to say. He'd said it once when they had visited Mary's grave, which was really just a headstone marking an empty plot since they'd never found her body.

Maybe that's why he'd had the dream. It wasn't straightforward, but the more he thought about it, the more Sam couldn't deny that it made at least some sense.

Soon, one way or another, Mary Winchester's case would finally be closed. Maybe it'd be a month from now or a year, but for the first time, Sam had the sense of surety that it would be.

"_Dead is dead, son," John said as they swept leaves off of his mother's headstone, "There's no coming back from it. That's why we have to live on for your mother."_

The idea of closure felt strange and hollow after all these years, and Sam didn't want to think of his dead mother anymore on his own. He buried his face in Gabe's hair and lost himself in his essence.

Time passed, and a subtle shift in color marked the end of Gabe's sleep. Slow, deep gold began to swirl faster and morph into pastel shades that brushed against his skin like feathers. He'd nearly fallen back asleep, but now that Gabe was stirring, he started to panic.

_What do I do? _Sam thought frantically as Gabe began to move more noticeably. _What will he say?_

Sam wasn't stupid; he knew that Gabe had ended up in the sofa bed with him because he'd be woken by his thrashing about or whatever he'd done in the throes of his nightmare. While he knew Gabe wouldn't exactly _mind_ waking up in this position, Sam knew it could lead to awkwardness and conversations he wasn't quite ready to have, and certainly not when he was only wearing boxers. He'd promised himself that he'd wait and do this right.

So, Sam did the only thing he could think of in his mini fit of panic. He feigned sleep.

He knew he was pretty convincing at faking sleep; he'd fooled Dean a handful of times before, and John when he was young and his father hadn't gotten wise to the deception. In this situation, it was a bit cowardly, but Sam could justify it by thinking of it as handing the choice over to Gabe and letting him decide how he wanted to go about things.

Sam let his breathing slow and his arms loosen just a bit, eyes shut and senses carefully attuned to pay attention to what Gabe did. He had to admit, he was curious.

Gabe wiggled around a bit and sighed, hand tightening on his hipbone. Sam swallowed, trying to ignore how nice _that_ felt.

"The hell?" he mumbled, fingers tapping once before trailing up. Sam could feel Gabe pull his head back a bit, hand coasting up farther beneath the sheet until it reached the arm he still had draped around the P.I.

Sam made sure not to tense as Gabe sucked in a sharp breath. With his eyes closed and his focus narrowed, the brief flits of emotion coursing through his aura came easily.

_Confused, then embarrassed, close to mortified. But pleased, content, warm, happy- _

A hand smoothed his hair back (and wasn't that another echo from last night?) as Gabe shifted, the springs creaking loudly as he withdrew himself carefully from Sam's hold. Sam let him leave after a brief, convincing tightening of his arms that he knew would be chalked up to an unconscious reaction.

"Shit. What am I gonna do with you, Sam?" he asked, but not in an aggrieved way. More pleasantly frustrated, and Sam thought if he opened his eyes, he would've seen a faint smile on Gabe's face.

The hand in his hair kept on moving, combing through strands in a manner so casual that he didn't think Gabe was 100% aware he was doing it.

"You gave me quite the scare earlier, and now you have the nerve to look all peaceful and innocent," he chided, his hand slowing as it moved to trail his jaw, "Glad I could be of some use at least."

Sam didn't like how that sounded. Did Gabe think that he just saw him as a warm body for comfort? Or was he just reading too much into it? It had been a while since Jess or anything romantically coded.

"I'll find Yellow Eyes for you, Sam, don't worry," he whispered, voice raspy from sleep, "That bastard hurt you so _much_, but not anymore."

It didn't matter that he was fresh out of sleep, or already bogged down by their current case and all its repercussions. Gabe's determination was believable all the same, and Sam's heart did a funny leap in his chest at the sound of it.

He must've shifted or something because the hand on his face stilled. A second later, Gabe was scrambling out of the bed, and the disappointment would've been crushing if Sam hadn't sensed him lean in and press an off-center kiss to his forehead.

The unexpected, fleeting touch somehow managed to feel like a star, burning away all the lingering nightmares in his head. Sam didn't know something so chaste as a forehead kiss could _feel_ like that.

_Don't you dare touch the spot, Winchester, _he firmly told himself, even as his fingers itched to reach up to his forehead.

Gabe walked off into what sounded like the kitchen, his aura slowly seeping away from him with his absence. It felt like stepping out from a warm, cozy house and into a raging blizzard, and Sam immediately decided that he hated the sensation.

He tugged the sheets up, abandoning the façade of deep sleep as he tried to cling to what warmth remained. Auras had their perks, but they brought extra feelings and sensations that he couldn't just ignore.

"Sam?"

_Sometimes I _really_ hate auras._

Sam responded with a wordless grunt, ignoring the chilly aura-induced feeling as he propped himself up on an elbow to look over at Gabe blearily.

"Good morning…" he started, intending to greet the man with a name and a properly sleepy smile for someone who was _supposed_ to have just woken up when his mouth went dry.

The softly curved muscle usually covered by shirts and jackets was now on display, gold skin highlighted by his swirling aura. Every time Gabe moved, a different color shifted across his skin; pearlescent shimmers rippling across his chest and down his arms and gold rising up from his heart. If he turned, Sam was sure he'd see the base of the wing-shaped aura, white strands glowing and radiating outward to blend with the abstract, but beautiful shape that surrounded Gabe.

Sam swallowed heavily, eyes drinking in the sight. While he'd caught brief glimpses of Gabe's bare skin before, he'd _never_ had a complete view like this. His aura complimented him perfectly, which only made it that much harder to look away.

_Ok, maybe auras aren't so bad._

"Technically, it's about 3 in the afternoon," Gabe corrected, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to tame it. To Sam's growing delight (this whole scene was going to be ingrained in his mind, he just _knew_ it), it didn't seem to want to go back down anytime soon. "We slept through the whole morning."

"So it's…Tuesday afternoon," he said slowly, trying to puzzle through it. He didn't think they'd slept through _all_ of Tuesday, but Sam could barely remember how he'd gotten on the sofa bed in the first place. He had a vague recollection of tiredly trudging through the front door with an equally exhausted Gabe, but nothing concrete beyond that.

"Yup. Want some coffee?"

Sam studied Gabe for a moment. The man sounded distant, but a quick study of his aura told Sam that it wasn't because of anything he'd done, but rather out of nervousness, as if…

_He wants to know if I remember the fact that we shared a bed for a bit, and what my possible reaction would be if he told me._

Sam's cheeks pinked a bit at the mere thought of properly _sharing_ a _bed_ with Gabe, and they'd technically already done it. Considering the way their relationship was evolving, that step skipped over two or three other milestones they had yet to hit, like the glaring fact that neither of them had told each other how they felt yet. No wonder Gabe was so nervous.

"Still awake, Sammo?"

"Uh, yeah," Sam said, clearing his throat and throwing the sheets off, "Yeah, coffee would be great."

He began the search for his clothes, tidying up the bed as he tried in vain to at the very least locate his jeans. It'd take his mind off of his sudden doubt over faking the fact he'd been asleep, and the stupidly juvenile, butterflies in his stomach feeling that plagued Sam more and more nowadays around Gabe.

The clatter of something dropping to the floor made Sam look over at Gabe, who swore and quickly ducked behind the counter. He managed to catch a glimpse of his red face before went down though, and the cherry red in his aura.

_Oops, _Sam thought with a bit of chagrin, but far more satisfaction. _I should really find my clothes._

"You alright there?" he asked as he _finally_ found his jeans wedged between the couch and the mattress (how had _that_ happened?).

"I'm good," Gabe replied in a strained voice muffled by the counter.

Sam tugged on his jeans, zipping them up as he walked over to the breakfast bar. Gabe still hadn't emerged, and he was beginning to grow mildly concerned. It was one thing to tease the P.I, but maybe he'd crossed some sort of unknown line?

"Are you sure?"

Gabe popped back up, an easy smile gracing his face to cover up his embarrassment. Nervousness continued to frazzle his aura though, sending fissions through the soft colors.

"100%," he said breathlessly, placing the spoon on the counter and leaning against it, "What do you want to eat? Pancakes? Eggs?"

His voice was too high; gold eyes unusually bright. Sam could've written it off if it weren't for the fact that Gabe's hands were shaking imperceptibly.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asked flat out, reaching for Gabe's hand. The P.I. was working himself up so quickly that Sam didn't want to beat around the bush.

Gabe pulled his hand away to cover his face, making a strangled noise.

"Nothing! Absolutely nothing."

"_Gabe_."

Sam hadn't meant to say his name in such an intense manner, but he couldn't help it. Gabe's aura was wearing off on him a little, and the fluttery feeling in his stomach was quickly turning sour.

Gabe peeked through the fingers that covered his eyes before he turned away and let his hand drop, speaking in a rush.

"You had a nightmare last night and I just wanted to make sure you were alright, and I accidentally fell asleep with you and I'm really, really sorry!"

Sam stared for a moment, taken aback by what felt very much like a confession on Gabe's part. The P.I.'s aura certainly looked guilty, but once he fully processed what he felt so guilty about, Sam couldn't help but laugh.

Gabe stared incredulously as he chuckled, his aura questioning.

"You're…not mad?" the P.I. asked tentatively, and Sam shook his head.

"No, of course not," he said, quick to reassure Gabe. He knew that their inadvertent cuddling together might cause some awkwardness (it was why he'd faked being asleep in the first place), and he knew Gabe had been nervous, but _this_? "If anything, I'm grateful that you helped me through it, and it's not your fault that you fell asleep with me."

Gold and pastel shades trembled with lingering uncertainty. Something still bothered Gabe, but Sam couldn't tell what until he began to mumble it.

"It's just…I know you have a strong sense of personal space and boundaries, and I can be pushy with those, but this is sort of a big breach of them…"

He trailed off; cheeks renewed with a new round of embarrassed color as Sam realized what was plaguing Gabe.

_He thinks he's violated my personal space, and that I'd be mad about that. Except he doesn't know that I like him back and that I don't have as many boundaries around him._

Sam still wanted to hold out on telling Gabe until the case reached some sort of conclusion. He wanted to be able to tell him properly and spend time with him that wouldn't be tainted by the looming threat of a serial killer. Gabe needed some sort of sign _now_ though, something more than the harmless flirting they'd engaged in.

It was a conundrum that made him want to bang his head on the counter before throwing himself onto the sofa bed to brood. Brooding had been a favorite pastime of his, before meeting Jess and college and the real world.

_Maybe I should just tell him. It'd solve a lot of problems._

But it wouldn't be _right_. Telling him was logical, and was backed by sound reasoning, but dammit, he was clinging to pure ethos here, and he didn't care. Besides, at heart, Sam could admit he had a romantic streak, and while it had taken a beating with Jess, it still ran strong. Confessing in Gabe's kitchen while they were both fresh from sleep and half-dressed wasn't exactly romantic.

"I _really_ don't mind," Sam said, trying to stress that he didn't without giving away the fact that he was more than a little into Gabe, "I think we're pretty close, don't you?"

"Yeah," Gabe replied slowly, like someone who suspected a trap, "We're close."

"We are," Sam affirmed, and found no lie in the words, or within himself at the thought, "Which means that I rely on you. And I can tell you things, because I know I can trust you."

A particularly dark cloud must've passed overhead because, with a rumble of thunder, the apartment dimmed dramatically. Gabe's eyes glinted in the half-dark, nearly glowing as they reflected the ghost light of his aura.

"Of course you can tell me things kiddo…things like your nightmare?"

The query was a direct test of Sam's boundaries, and they both knew it. Gabe was wary but ultimately firm, like a lone knight waiting patiently for the drawbridge to fall after circling the castle and finding no other way in.

_I could tell you so much more, _he thought, feeling something close to relief as he decided that he could lower the drawbridge for this one person that had quickly grown to mean something to him.

"Yeah…those sorts of things," he said, making sure to keep his eyes fixed on Gabe so the man could maybe make out his sincerity in the dark.

He knew it'd worked when Gabe's smile flashed brilliantly at him. The rain continued to pour outside, but the cloud passed, and they could make out each other's faces again through the gloom.

_Now or never Winchester. You can do this._

"The coffee's ready," Sam said casually, taking a deep breath, "Let me fix up some cups for us, and then we can talk. There are some things about me that you deserve to know, like my past."

Gabe's reaction would've been comical if the situation wasn't so serious. His aura practically exploded in shock, gold radiating outward as his jaw dropped

"Wait, kiddo-are you _sure_ about this?" he asked, eyes wide as Sam walked around the counter, "I don't want you to think that you have to tell me."

"I know. I want to," Sam replied, voice surprisingly steady given the secret he was about to spill. It helped that he'd recently told Lisa, but he wasn't sure if he was emotionally recharged enough to tell Gabe about how John had raised him.

_You'll just have to be, _he thought determinedly as he began to prepare the coffee, _It's the only secret I can start with right now that I know won't send him running for the hills._

"Sam…"

He half-turned to glance back at Gabe, and whatever the P.I saw must've eased the tension, because he cut him himself off and shook his head.

"You're set on this, aren't you?" he asked, and Sam nodded.

"If you haven't noticed, I'm pretty stubborn when I want to be," he said with an easy smile that drew a huff of laughter from Gabe.

It made his stomach twist and his hands tremble with nerves, but Sam knew that ultimately, he could do this. Out of everyone he'd ever known in his life, he had faith that Gabe could handle this secret and keep it close to his chest. Not only did he have his own secrets, but he was one of the few people that had somehow managed to both respect and nudge his boundaries in a way that didn't leave him feeling violated.

Interestingly enough, he was like Lisa in that regard. She had always been a little pushier with Dean when it came to family secrets and clearly knew some aspects of their lives, but ultimately, she let it be and waited for them to tell her on their own time.

_Well, now is the time._

Sam handed a cup to Gabe, who'd opted to sit on top of the breakfast bar and swing his legs while he waited. He was pleased to see that his aura had calmed somewhat and was now more alight with curiosity than anything else.

"You know, if they'd caught Yellow Eyes back then, I wouldn't be who I am today," he started, leaning against the counter opposite to Gabe, "He killed my mother, but it's what happened _afterward_ that really stuck in my head."

Gabe's eyes softened, his expression shifting to one of Sam's favorites; quietly attentive and focused on him. It was probably selfish of him, but when Gabe looked at him like that, Sam could pretend that for just a moment, he didn't have to try to fix anything and that the world consisted of just them.

"John was always-_paranoid_ that Yellow Eyes would get us. More so me than Dean because I'd been left in that tree, but he worried for the both of us. At first, he took us out of Lawrence in what was an attempt to keep us safe, but being nomads wasn't exactly the best either. We lived in a lot of motels and passed through a lot of states and we pretty much grew up looking over our shoulders for the bogeyman."

Sam huffed, a wry smile twisting his lips.

"You know, that's actually how I first learned of him. Dean tried to explain it to me because that's what older brothers do, but he barely understood more than me at the time. So the way he told it, Yellow Eyes was this unimaginable, inhuman monster that stole our mother away. A demon really. John was hunting him down for what he did to Mom, and that's why we were on the road so much and could never properly go to school like other kids. We _had_ to go along with him because we didn't have a mom and a house to stay in.

"Never mind the fact that we had Uncle Bobby and Ellen, and a bunch more other concerned family friends that would've, and have temporarily at times, taken us in. We were kids, so logical reasoning eluded us," he said with a huffed laugh, "We thought John was being the hero, trying to hunt down Yellow Eyes, but in reality, it was the reverse. He was just running from the ghost of him and dragging us along because he was scared and harbored a sense of responsibility towards us.

"One day, he decided to stop running. Maybe the pressure from friends got him to cave in and bring us back to Lawrence, or maybe he'd made his mind up then about how he wanted to raise us. I don't know for sure, and the reasoning is nonimportant in the grand scheme of things."

To his horror, his vision started getting blurry with tears. One fell into his coffee, and he rubbed at his eyes inconspicuously, hoping Gabe wouldn't notice.

_Dammit, hold it together Winchester._

Except he couldn't. There was suddenly a gaping, festering pit in his chest, and the words were struggling to make it out from the pit and through his clogged throat.

"I think you can work out what I'm leading up to," he managed to choke out, "You're so clever, and I-I don't know if I ever wanted to keep this from you."

Gabe's feet pattered softly on the ground as he approached (because of course he would notice). Sam kept his head bowed, turning away so he wouldn't have to look the man in the eye. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach, and a bit ashamed too. Why was this so much harder than telling Lisa?

"John was a Marine," he whispered as Gabe gently took the coffee from his hand, "He was a good one too. That's how he knew what to teach us...it's all I ever _knew_…"

Then Gabe wrapped his arms and aura around him, letting him cry into his shoulder, and Sam started to understand the uncharacteristic silence. Gabe didn't need to say anything when he could just show it like this.

…

"Want to just walk?"

Gabe had driven Sam back to his apartment under the pretense that he'd just drop him off and head back to his own place until something developed in the case. There'd been very little to say after he'd let Gabe in on the nitty-gritty details on what the Winchester family business entailed. He'd told him everything, even the specifics behind the "boxing career" Dean had. Gabe's aura had run through a plethora of emotion and color, but he'd never once seemed disgusted by Sam or horrified by the dangerous man he could be if given the opportunity. In fact, he'd remained fairly quiet, mostly listening and providing coffee refills.

There'd only been one problem with their plan though. Neither of them particularly felt like leaving the other.

Sam invited Gabe up to his apartment when he should've just said good-bye in the Beetle, and Gabe went more than willingly, not wanting to leave Sam when he looked 'rough'. The behavior might've been a bit clingy on both their parts, but neither of them minded. Gabe's aura reflected his worried, and while he'd never admit it, Sam didn't want to be left alone with his thoughts. The bitter pit inside of him had been scraped clean by the retelling of his past, and he wasn't sure what to do with all the space the secret he'd been carrying had left in its wake.

So, they both decided that pizza was a solid way to wrap up the strange day, and Pete's Pizza was only a few blocks down.

"What if it starts raining again?" Sam asked, peering out from the small canopy that covered his apartment's stoop. The storm had miraculously let up when they had pulled up, exposing sections of an indigo sky and the bottom orange haze of light pollution, but the clouds still lingered.

"It probably won't," Gabe said confidently, jutting his chin up at the sky, "Look, those clouds aren't even that bad."

Sam eyed the sky doubtfully but didn't argue his point further. He was tired, and the memories of the past felt far too fresh for his liking. After years of repressing his childhood, talking about it twice in as many days to two different but incredibly important people made his head hurt.

_If it feels like this every time I talk about it, it's no wonder Dean constantly wormed out of telling Lisa._

Gabe seemed to sense his mood was quickly sinking because before Sam could mope any further outside the door, he'd grabbed his hand and tugged him out onto the sidewalk.

"C'mon, it's just a short walk," Gabe said cheerfully, eyes bright as he looked back over his shoulder at him, "And if it does rain, then what's the big deal?"

All the protests that Sam could've voiced died in his throat in the face of Gabe's easy-going attitude. Logically, he knew that part of the man's sudden vigor was born from an attempt to cheer him up, but the brilliant gold aura coming to life around him reminded him of that first week they'd been getting to know each other. The case had been in its early days then, and Gabe had been less stressed and more carefree. More _him_.

The sight stole Sam's breath away. This was the Gabe that he'd heard so many rumors about at the Roadhouse before ultimately meeting him on that fateful Tuesday night when he was just the extroverted guy that put too much sugar in his coffee and told anecdotes to whoever would listen.

A warm feeling bloomed in Sam's chest, matching the warmth of Gabe's aura against his skin and threatening to crack his ribs from its force. At that moment, the rawness of the day was nonexistent.

"Yeah, you're right," he replied, a stupidly happy grin spreading across his face (But who could blame him when the reason for it was Gabe?), "Race you there!"

Sam tore down the sidewalk, leaving a spluttering Gabe in his dust. The P.I. quickly caught up though, and their race down the block quickly devolved into a competitive dogfight as they each tried to one-up each other with dirty tricks to get ahead. Puddles were destroyed, curbs nearly tripped over, and towards the end, a tree branch lost its life when Sam tried to use it as a handhold after Gabe hip-checked him into a winter-brittle tree.

"You caused a casualty, Gabe!" Sam exclaimed, shaking the branch at the P.I, who just laughed at the sight, "This was an innocent bystander! What do you have to say for yourself?"

"All is fair in love and war, baby!" Gabe quipped, winking salaciously and blowing a kiss at him before darting off again.

Sam growled, ignoring his hot cheeks (had he really _said_ that?) as he took off after him.

In the end, Sam won, but only because Gabe somehow managed to get disoriented and wound up on the wrong side of the street. He applauded loudly as the P.I conducted the losers jaywalk of shame over, to which Gabe just shrugged and grinned.

"In my defense, I've only been here once!" he argued, gesturing to the restaurant, and Sam shook his head incredulously.

"But how did you miss all of _this_?"

Pete's Pizza shone in all its neon glory through the drizzle, burning a hole in the street's typically soft, blue atmosphere. Sam was the only one who could see the hole it burned with its artificial light, but the glowing red letters of the sign and the bright retro interior were _very_ hard to look over.

Gabe sniffed haughtily before shouldering past him to enter, trying to hang onto his wounded pride. Sam snickered and made jokes about terrible P.I.'s who couldn't even find a pizza place until they were seated, where the waitress made an interesting comment.

"I didn't think we'd get anyone tonight," she said as she took their drink requests (one water, one fruit punch), "We've been making more deliveries than anything this past week."

"Because of the bad weather?" Gabe asked, ever the social creature.

The waitress, a lady in her 30s and one Sam didn't recall seeing much in the restaurant, shook her head. Her maroon aura lightened to a worried gray-pink shade at the edges.

"No one wants to go out at night now that there's another serial killer on the loose," she explained, "Hell, not even the delivery boys want to drive out at night. Reminds me of the last one we had, and they never caught _him_."

_Well, that explains the lack of people, _Sam thought as he took in all the empty red vinyl booths. He'd noticed the odd lack of a dinner crowd, but like Gabe, had chalked it up to the crappy weather.

"Hope they catch this one," the waitress said, leaving them on that final ominous note.

There was a brief moment of silence between them before Gabe spread his hands and lightly slapped them down onto the table.

"Well, _that_ was enlightening," he proclaimed, earning a small snort from Sam.

"Lawrence was a paranoid mess when Yellow Eyes was on the loose," he explained, messing around with the condiments on the side, "Our local news leaves much to be desired when it comes to factual information. Combine that with the general incompetency of certain aspects of the LPD, and you get a city on fire."

"How bad do you think it'll get?" Gabe asked softly as if the subject might be taboo.

In a way, it was. However hard they'd tried to avoid mentions of the case today, it had crept up on them anyway. Sam had half a mind to just say they drop it and focus on pizza, but Gabe really needed to know. Living in Lawrence for a year wasn't enough time to get to know the intricacies of the city, even if he'd seen the bad it could offer through his job.

"Bad," Sam said bluntly, twirling the pepper shaker through his fingers and watching the flakes dance inside, "Lawrence is a keg filled with incendiary groups of all sorts. Gangs, psychos, broken systems, long-term citizens that have grown jaded to it all. Everyone ultimately takes care of their own here, and the anomaly of a serial killer is probably the strongest spark that exists to blow the keg up. The only reason it hasn't happened yet is because everything has happened so fast."

"Weeks instead of months compared to Yellow Eyes," Gabe murmured, and Sam nodded.

"It's caught everyone off, but soon enough the keg will blow. The FBI coming in, the gangs readying themselves with their own agenda…Lawrence won't stand a chance."

He sighed, setting the pepper shaker down. His feelings towards the city he'd been born in and more or less grown up in were complicated, but in the end, he loved the place. It was unfortunately in Lawrence's nature to crumble easily in the face of adversity like a sandcastle built too close to the waves, but Sam still hated seeing it fall into chaos.

Gabe processed this for a moment, aura swirling with deep shades of thought before he sat up ramrod straight and looked him in the eye.

"Samuel Winchester, you're _not_ responsible for Lawrence."

Sam nearly dropped the pepper shaker in shock. He didn't think anyone had called him Samuel in _months_ besides Lisa, let alone use his full name.

_And since when is he a mind reader?_

"I know your father drilled some crazy ideas into your head when you were a kid, and I know that they're hard to get rid of," Gabe continued in a low, intense voice, "I had my suspicions before you spoke to me today, and the reason why I haven't expressed much of my thoughts on what you've told me in detail is because I know the moment I do, I'll want to have a little _chat_ with your father about what he did."

Sam reeled, completely taken aback by the intensity the P.I was radiating, his aura blazing white with a sudden, fierce protectiveness. Had he been holding this in _all day_?

He opened his mouth to try to talk Gabe down because it _really_ wasn't necessary to confront John, but Gabe held up a hand.

"I know you'll try to dissuade me from it, so don't even try. Once I've gotten my-_feelings_ under control, you can rant and rave about how unnecessary and pointless talking to your father could be. Right now, I just want you to know that you are _not responsible_ for whatever happens in this case. You aren't responsible for what The Crucifier does, or the failings of the LPD, or even how the shitty news outlets decide to spin the headlines. This over-arching sense of duty you have ends with _me_."

Gabe's hands curled into loose fists, and in the fluorescent light, his eyes looked like beacons in the night.

"This is me putting my foot down, now that I understand this aspect about you better. If you want to feel responsible for me or your family, then so be it. I know unlearning principles that are practically conditioned in is difficult. But you don't have to be some crazy, Batman-style vigilante warrior of the night."

He let out a long breath, eyes softening and a wan smile appearing on his face.

"You can just be Sam, the guy that wants to be a lawyer and loves his family to bits," he finished, the expression on his face one of the softest Sam had seen from him yet, "You can just be my partner."

Sam would've been lying if he said Gabe's words hadn't affected. He'd somehow hit him right in the raw, tender spot that had opened up in his chest ever since he'd exposed part of his life of Gabe, and then smoothed it all over tenderly after delivering his tough love.

_You said you wanted to stay out of this crap for the longest, but now you want to get your hands dirty? _

Dean had said that to him back in his apartment, but Sam had never considered that his brother might've been referring to the overwhelming sense of duty that had been instilled in them when he'd said 'crap'.

_But he had been, hadn't he? Dean's a man of duty, and he's always been the one to shoulder all of the responsibility, _he thought, some things finally starting to make sense now that Gabe had loosened the blinders limiting his point of view, _That's the real reason why he didn't want me getting caught up in all this. Managing to get away from that life just to get back onto the horse must seem insane in his eyes._

Then Sam's whirling mind focused on one particular word he'd originally missed in Gabe's heated tirade that he latched onto.

"Feelings?"

Gabe cocked his head in confusion before he realized what he was referring to.

"Out of my whole speech, _that's_ what you latched on to," he chuckled, shaking his head in exasperation, "Of _course_ I have feelings on the subject. I've got all sorts of feelings! Right now, I've got a lot of hate for the things in life that have hurt you."

There was no green flash of falsehood in his aura or any sign of exaggeration. There wasn't even a smidge of cherry red attraction that Sam had grown used to seeing. In fact, Gabe's aura looked perfectly normal save for the rippling effect that made the gold look like liquid sunshine.

_He really cares. _

The concept wasn't new to Sam; he'd seen flashes of colors that showed that brand of affection in the P.I's aura before, but it still made him blush to think that Gabe _cared_.

Luckily, the ominous waitress from earlier arrived with their drinks, saving him from having to come up with some sort of response. Gabe didn't seem to need one, but that might've been because the P.I was too busy being embarrassed by what he'd said.

Sam smiled at the man's pink face, his grin widening as he fumbled with his drink. Who knew Gabe could be so awkwardly endearing?

The conversation veered away from serious subject matter after that, entering the land of jokes and silly stories as they enjoyed the nearly empty restaurant and the pizza. They lingered long after the food was gone, reluctant to leave and call an end to the night. In the end, the decision was made for them when one of the workers turned the TV on to the news, which was predictably playing a late segment on The Crucifier.

"Don't need any of that negativity right now," Gabe muttered as they stepped out into the cool night. The rain hadn't started back up, but it was now too late to tell where the clouds ended and the sky started, if there was any delineation at all, "Lead the way Sam-a-lam since I apparently got _lost_ on the way here."

Sam laughed at Gabe's put-out expression before gently taking his hand and leading him down the street.

"It's alright Gabe. As long as you don't get lost on the way home," he remarked idly, setting a pace that let them take their time. Gabe hadn't let go of his hand, and he was going to savor the walk.

The streets were emptier than usual as they made their way back, the city's atmosphere muted slightly by the lack of pedestrians. This area of the city typically wasn't one that bustled as much as downtown did at night, but Sam was still unnerved to see barely anyone out and about.

_And it's only going to get worse from here._

"Be careful driving back," he said as they stopped beside Gabe's car, which was parked just a little way's down from his apartment building, "The rain might start back up again."

It was a lame substitute for what he really wanted to say (_be careful of what might be roaming out of the streets tonight_), but Gabe, clever as always, got what he was trying to convey.

"I'm always careful kiddo," he said, nudging his jacket back casually to reveal the holster by his hip, "Call me if you need anything."

Sam hadn't even realized the P.I had his gun on him. He'd also never seen him wear it so close to his hand either, but they were living in a different Lawrence now. Keeping it at his back would no longer cut it.

"I will," he promised, no longer hesitant to reach out to Gabe if he needed something. He didn't think he'd still felt so cautious with him (Gabe was easily his _best_ friend now), but then something like tonight would happen, and he'd realize that he'd assumed wrong. "And… thank you. For everything."

Sam couldn't think of anything eloquent or passionate to say like the fiery words Gabe had spoken in Pete's Pizza. All he could manage were those four measly words.

_So much for being the most well-spoken member of the family._

Gabe's responding smile was softer than Sam expected, the care he'd seen earlier shining through it. It gave him a different, warmer feeling in his stomach, but it was no less intense than the swooping sensation he got when Gabe smiled roguishly.

"Of course. Those are big words coming from you, Sammo," he said solemnly, taking the edge of the moment by cuffing his arm playfully.

_Were they?_

As he watched the Beetle's headlights disappear around the corner, Sam decided that if they had gotten Gabe to smile like that, then they were the best words he could've come up with.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE

This is coming to you guys hot off the press while I'm in the midst of finals season. I figured it might be a nugget of goodness for those of you who are also going through the educational drudgery. I'll go into detail when I post the next chapter of what I've been up to because I have a few chapters lined up for editing, but for right now I bring this! Hopefully there won't be too much yelling in the comments...


	10. Stand Your Ground

**Chapter 10: Stand Your Ground**

For the first time in years, Gabe dreamed of the church.

_Dream _was too nice of a word for it, but nightmare was too harsh. The distorted, jumbled images of a cool, quiet building and endless rows of dark pews were unsettling at worst and hadn't truly scared him in a long time. He'd visited the place too much in real life to feel fear within it.

Gabe watched the sequence play out like a horribly edited video before him, jumping back and forth between different areas of the church until he came to stop just before the pulpit, right in front of the roughly hewn wooden cross hanging high up on the far wall. It was a small church, old and worn, and looked exactly like the sort of place people would leave an unwanted baby like him on a cold night.

Something was different though.

Gabe stood there for a second, trying to place what felt wrong. Was the moonlight pouring in through the stained windows too strong? Was it supposed to be this warm?

Fire flickered out of the corner of his eye, and Gabe turned to look over at the candles that sat on a long table to the left. All of them save for a few were lit, and the last few were being lit by a boy of about 11 with floppy hair and flannel sleeves so long that they threatened to catch on fire.

The candles had never been lit before, and there had never been a boy lighting them.

"You should light one," the boy said, voice soft and tremulous. Gabe couldn't make out any of his facial features since his head was bowed, but his hands were nimble and quick as they lit candle after candle, "Lighting candles with a friend is a good way to keep the dark at bay."

"You're my friend?" Gabe asked before he could stop himself.

A few flames danced wildly as the boy huffed out a quiet laugh over them.

"I get it. I don't have many friends either," he replied, seeming to deliberate between which candle to light out of the few that remained, "But you shouldn't be so disbelieving. You're not unlovable, and I'm no sinner."

Gabe shivered at the matter-of-fact tone the strange boy had spoken in. It sounded as if he'd been called a sinner many times, but who would call an innocent boy that?

"Who called you a sinner?"

"God," the boy said, still not looking up at him, before laughing. The giggle seemed too loud and out of place in the still church, but then, Gabe never really thought about the sanctity of this place much in his dreams, "Or rather, the people involved in these sorts of places."

He gestured to their otherwise empty surroundings with a lit match, twirling the flame in a circle too deft for a child to do before putting it out.

"They'd consider me a sinner for the things I can do."

The boy looked up, gesturing for him to come closer with a match in his hand. Flames illuminated his youthful face in harsh shadows and orange light, making it hard to pinpoint what was now so familiar about him. The distortion didn't lessen the easy sense of companionship between them, and it didn't twist the soft smile on his face.

Gabe stepped closer, hoping he could solve the mystery, and took the match the boy offered him.

"What sort of things can you do?" he asked, dipping the match into a nearby flame and stealing a sliver of fire for himself. His voice was calm with the unquestioning acceptance of strangeness that dreams brought.

"Oh, all sorts of things," the boy said nonchalantly, sliding over a bit so Gabe could stand in front of the unlit candles, "I fall asleep and see all the things that could come to be in my dreams. I see fire and blood, the dark and the monsters it holds."

"That sounds rough," Gabe said for lack of anything better to say. The moonlight was beginning to wan, flickering in and out as clouds passed through.

"It is. It's not my fault that I have them, but it happens anyway, and it's not all bad. Sometimes I see love. People aren't all bad," the boy said, toeing the floor with a worn sneaker, "You should hurry and light your candles before the dark comes."

Gabe had never been in the church when it was completely dark. The moon had always provided enough light to comfortably see by, but that had been where everything was all cut up and ordered illogically in the dream sequence. This time around, nothing was as it should be, and he had a feeling he should do as the boy said.

There were three candles left. Gabe held his match over the first, and outside, the moonlight momentarily strengthened before dimming again.

"Are you going to tell me your name?" he asked as he grabbed another match (the one he'd had dwindled too far down).

"No. You know who I am."

"I really don't," Gabe confessed as he lit the new match, "You _do_ look familiar, but I can't really come up with a name. Sorry, kiddo."

"It's the dark," the boy said understandingly, not seeming to be hurt by Gabe's lack of knowledge regarding his identity, "Light the candles, and they'll lead the way back."

"Back where?"

The boy shrugged, making a vague hand gesture that made his sleeve flop comically.

"Just…_back_."

"You're a paragon of wisdom. Thank you for explaining things so concisely," Gabe snapped before frowning, "How do I even _know_ the word paragon?"

"You probably picked it up from me," the boy remarked, tilting his head before looking up at the cross on the wall, "Strange, that you've visited this place so much. I never visited my tree."

_That_ made warning bells ring in his head, but all Gabe could do while he was seized by the dream-like calm was light the second candle. The boy was right about the dark; it was creeping into the church, swamping the moonlight and stretching the shadows inward with every second it could greedily snatch from them.

"What does it matter how many times I've revisited this church?" he asked, quickly moving his match towards the last unlit candle.

"Because revisiting the past always hurts," the boy said, smiling just as the last candle was lit.

The smile hit Gabe like a freight train because he _knew_ that smile. It was the fledgling version of the crooked grin he loved seeing so much from…

"Sam?"

…

Gabe gasped awake, sitting up so fast that his vision swam, blurring everything before him.

"Holy crap," he muttered, rubbing the sides of his face before raking his fingers through his hair. A cold sweat stuck to his skin and his heart raced from the intensity of the dream, even if he couldn't remember much of it. All he could recall was lighting candles with someone that he thought was Sam in the church he'd been left in as a kid.

_That's just screwed up in all sorts of ways, _he thought, flopping back onto his mattress and breathing deeply to get his heart under control.

He couldn't say he was too surprised though. After what Sam had told him yesterday, it only seemed logical that his subconscious would respond with something so bizarre.

A white-hot flare of anger lit up the inside of his chest just _thinking_ about what Sam had revealed. Hearing Lisa's suspicions and forming his own hypotheses from what he'd seen while getting to know Sam was one thing, but to hear the sheer extent of Sam's messed up childhood…

The pillow smacked against the far wall before Gabe consciously realized he'd thrown it, bringing down an art print he'd bought solely to keep up appearances. He couldn't say he was sorry about the destruction though; not when it helped him cope a little.

Gabe knew life was unfair. Hell, he had intimate knowledge of the concept, but he still had the right to rage at the injustice of it all when someone so good and kind like Sam had been dealt such a shit hand at life.

He exhaled harshly, the sound loud in his largely empty apartment. The clean white atmosphere had never bothered him before, but ever since he'd brought Sam here, the place felt like a mausoleum when he was by himself.

"That's called being clingy," Gabe muttered to himself, but the words felt like a lie as soon as he'd said them.

He wasn't mad that he was getting closer to Sam, but the _thing_ he was developing with him was something he'd _never_ experienced before, and it quite frankly scared the crap out of him.

He'd never exposed so much of himself to someone before and didn't think he'd ever placed so much trust in a single person before. The people that were supposed to take care of him were apathetic at best, and cruel at worst, with only a few memorable moments where they'd proven themselves worthy of any sort of trust scattered far in between. And screw _liking_ any of them; as a foster kid, he'd learned quickly how to form and detach bonds at will, his feelings ever-evolving and nebulous so they could accompany him whenever he moved.

Trust was a fragile thing for Gabe. Hard to earn, easy to break. But he'd placed a bit in Sam, and then more and more until the trust was unquestionable and unfaltering. Sam had done the same along the way, and now here they were, bound together by that trust and their messy pasts and the violence of the present and the uncertain, but possibly shared future they could have together.

Gabe wanted that future with Sam (and dammit, he couldn't deny it), but the nature of the path that led there wasn't one he'd ever traveled before. He was familiar with the paths he _ran_; the ones that took him away from cities and commitment and relationships deeper than casual hookups and professional work camaraderie.

For the first time in what was probably months, leaving Lawrence looked appealing. He could pack up the Beetle quickly; Gabe never unpacked it fully, and he knew what he could take with him and what he couldn't. He'd been here too long anyway. A year was the longest he'd ever been in a city, and the extended time was beginning to show. Things were getting too complicated too quickly, and Sam-

His chest burned so _bad_ at the thought of leaving Sam that Gabe had to physically rub the spot over his heart. The thought was crystal clear in his head, a direct contradiction to everything Gabe ever held true about his nature.

_I can't leave him. I just can't._

A large part of his heart was still confident that he could be with Sam and stay in Lawrence. Another part of him wanted to run far, far away, and sever the ties he had before they could grow stronger. It'd _hurt_ because just imagining trying to leave Sam made his chest ache again, but surely, the sooner he left the less of himself he would leave behind.

To stay, or to go. Both desires were equally strong, and both decisions relied on one person.

"Get it _together_, Milton," Gabe said aloud, slamming a fist down onto the mattress as a sudden wash of frustration ran over him at his own infuriating thoughts, "You're _not_ leaving Sam, and you're _not_ just going to abandon the case."

The traitorous piece of his heart ceased its whining about leaving Lawrence, and Gabe got up with a grim smile. He had work to do.

The shower was hot enough to calm the rest of his awry thoughts, forcing them to settle down as he gulped deep breathes of warm air. Gabe really couldn't afford to explore any of this further, not when The Crucifier was still on the loose and the official people tasked with catching him was about to experience a bureaucratic shakedown that would set them back even further.

Gabe's lip curled distastefully as he performed the rest of his morning's ablutions. He'd worked with the FBI only twice in his career, and both times had left much to be desired. The agency held the view that P.I's were the equivalent of kids playing in sandboxes in the law enforcement world, barely a step above psychics and all he'd gotten from them was scorn and derision. He could only imagine how they'd treat the LPD. The department's reputation had taken a big hit when Yellow Eyes got away twenty years earlier, and they'd never quite recovered.

His phone rang somewhere in the apartment, ringtone muted by the distance. It was audible enough that he could make out 'Heat of the Moment' though.

Gabe threw his hairbrush down in frustration. He couldn't even brush his _hair_ without getting interrupted by potential life or death matters these days.

"I don't know which one of you badass detective ladies are calling, but I don't want to hear it. You disappointed me _greatly_ the other day," Gabe said, wedging the phone between his ear and shoulder as he rewrapped his slipping towel. He was still irked about not being able to sneak into the library, even if he logically knew it wasn't their fault.

"You know I still feel kind of bad about that, Gabe," Donna replied, sounding a little hurt, "But the _Chief_ showed up, and you know how serious that is. You can't blame us forever!"

Gabe's frown softened a bit. It was hard to stay mad at Donna when she sounded like _that_.

"Jody made you call so I wouldn't immediately hang up, huh?"

There was a pause, and then Donna made a wishy-washy 'hmmm' noise that Gabe rolled his eyes at before walking back to the bathroom.

"What can I say? You two are a predictable duo," he said, feeling a little burst of satisfaction as always at having made a correct mini-deduction, "No less kickass of course, but _very_ predictable."

"You know what happened that one time I played bad cop, Gabe. There's a reason why I'm the bubbly good cop that butters people up, dear!"

A shiver ran down Gabe's spine. He knew the incident Donna was referring too, and he _didn't_ want a repeat of it. In the end, she'd gotten the criminal to crack, but it'd cost the LPD all the furniture in Interrogation Room #4.

"You make a good point," he said hurriedly as she laughed, "What can I do for you?"

"We actually have a chance to talk to Hoffman," Donna explained, "It's one of the last things we _can_ do before the FBI starts reassigning tasks and whatnot. The thing is, Hoffman seems to be really…_intimidated_ by women."

Gabe snorted, but he was already halfway back to his bedroom where his mad scientist whiteboard sat waiting as he responded.

"Well, that's not too much of a surprise, is it? The weird little thing he had with the librarians should've been a big indicator."

"Ugh, I try not to think about that," Donna groaned, "But it's not just women he has an issue with! He's also been giving the cops he gets assigned a hard time too. He doesn't seem to like anyone on the LPD."

There, in the far left middle. At some point, he'd stuck up a picture of Hoffman, as well as a little blurb. Gabe peered at it for a moment, taking in the sharp facial features, dark beady eyes, and baggy sweater vest. Hoffman was a grad student, generally disliked, with no close family and a reputation of being extremely studious.

But there was something else. According to the spidery cursive that most certainly _wasn't_ his beneath the picture, he was also "a pretentious asshole."

"Huh," he muttered with a small smile, "When had Sam gotten around to doing that?"

"What was that dear?"

"Nothing," Gabe said smoothly, straightening up and running a hair through his still-damp hair, "Hoffman doesn't seem like he should be a hard nut to crack."

"Exactly! But he is, and it's a conundrum," Donna said, "It's clear he knows of something that might've made him a target, or at the very least has an idea of what it _might_ be, but for whatever reason, he won't say."

Gabe took one last look at the photo he had. Hoffman's nose was turned up, giving off a sense of pretentiousness. In short, he looked if his most notable personality trait was petulancy. He should've cracked within 24 hours of being the LPD's new focus, but instead, he was being difficult.

_Appearances can be deceiving. Just because he _looks_ like a coward doesn't mean he can't make one final stand to guard his secrets, Battle of the Alamo style._

He wondered if Sam would've made that sort of stand with the secret he'd revealed yesterday, or if he could in the future with the others Gabe knew he harbored.

"And no one's been able to crack him?" he asked, not liking the direction his train of thought was taking him at all. He and Sam had too much trust in each other for Sam to do something like that. Right?

A sliver of unease began to take root in Gabe's mind. Sam had been incredibly forthcoming yesterday (which he was still secretly proud of), but what if he had a secret that he somehow felt was worse than that and had to be guarded at all costs? Something like the special vision he suspected he had, or maybe even something _beyond_ that.

"Not even the FBI."

Luckily, Gabe was curious to a fault, and so his insatiable need to _know_ overcame his quickly spiraling thoughts regarding secrets.

"The FBI tried to talk to him?"

Donna hummed, "And they failed. They've even threatened him with obstruction of justice, and he still hasn't given in. I'd almost be _impressed_ if the situation wasn't so dire."

Gabe rubbed his face contemplatively. Resisting the LPD's attempts was one thing, but the _FBI_?

"What makes you think I'll be able to get through to him?" he asked, now realizing why she'd called.

There was a mumbled voice, and then Donna snapped, "Well, why don't _you_ tell him that?" before handing the phone off.

"Gabe, to be quite frank with you, you're our last hope," Jody said, voice so rough that Gabe could practically hear the sleepless nights and dark undereye circles, "We know you've got a knack for persuasion, and I really don't care what anyone says at this point about you being on or off the case."

He was so used to hearing 'Milton' from Jody that hearing his first name, much less his standard nickname, caught him off guard.

"Are you sure about that, Jody? How will I get to him without being noticed?" he asked, weakly grasping at straws that he didn't really want to get ahold of.

"Don't worry about that. We'll handle it," she said cryptically, "Will you do it?"

Gabe didn't have to think it over very much. It had been a long time since he'd interviewed (or interrogated; this wasn't exactly a delicate witness he was dealing with here) someone that sounded so hard to unravel, and he was chomping at the bit for something that would let him feel as if he was actually taking a leap forward in the case instead of a baby step.

And if he would make for a good distraction from the white-hot anger that he felt towards how Sam had been raised and the itch to leave Lawrence, then that was just an added bonus.

"Count me in."

…

The LPD was waiting for Gabe when he arrived.

He picked out Jody, Donna, Garth, Zeke, and a handful of beat cops he didn't know all loitering in the most pathetic strip of dry grass that made up the tiny yard. Said yard was attached to an equally pathetic looking apartment complex crammed between two higher buildings, but the depressing visage was nothing new to Gabe, who was familiar with these sorts of places. This was a building that catered to students that didn't want to live in the official dorms, and as such didn't pay much attention to the things that their residents didn't care about.

Gabe approached cautiously, unsure of the type of welcome he would receive. Jody had said she would handle it, but there seemed to be many more cops here than a simple watch duty necessitated for a single person. Had the department learned of his presence? Or was this just overkill protection because of The Crucifier?

_It'll be really embarrassing to have to scurry back home with my tail between my legs._

Garth spotted him first, raising his coffee cup in greeting as he beamed.

"Ah, there he is! The man of the hour!"

Heads turned to look at him, and none of them held hostile looks. Gabe breathed a silent sigh of relief before spreading his hands and grinning for the crowd. This was his workplace; the officers and detectives that made up the force, not the physical LPD headquarters downtown.

"I was told I could be of assistance, so of course I came! How are the fine ladies and gentlemen of the badge doing today?"

A chorus of various answers rose up, forming a general consensus of 'so-so'. Donna and Garth both one arm hugged him, dragging him forward into the cluster of officers.

"Glad to see you can be punctual, Milton," Jody said wryly in greeting.

"I can be punctual when the situation calls for it," he sniffed.

"So rarely ever?"

"Less grouchy greetings and more cordiality you two," Zeke suggested before Gabe could fire a retort back, "I think some of the younger ones are fearful you'll tear each other's heads off."

"As if," Jody scoffed as Gabe rolled his eyes, but they both held their tongues. Some of the fresh-faced cops _did_ look a little wary of them, and while their less than typical work dynamic was semi well known in the department, the beat cops wouldn't be as aware of how they rolled.

"So, who came up with this little shindig?" Gabe asked, gesturing to the group. "There's no way all of you are assigned to watch over Hoffman."

He gaped at the nods he received because surprisingly, they were. Thinking of the possibility was one thing, but learning that the LPD had actually gone through with such an insane concept?

"There's always six people on the grounds at any given point," one of the young beat cops explained, "One with him, one outside his door, two at the main apartment doors, and two plainclothes officers loitering around the block. We're about to switch off, which is why there's so many of us here right now."

"And that's just the foot patrol," someone else remarked, "There's always a car parked on the block now, and the five-block radius around this building is also heavily patrolled."

"All that for _one_ person?"

Jody nodded grimly, "As of now, the best operating theory we have is that The Crucifier will come after Hoffman in the immediate future, and the LPD should be there to intercept him."

Gabe ran a hand over his face, exhaling hard through his nose. It was a solid theory that he couldn't refute, mainly because he too believed that Hoffman was next, but the heavy-handed execution…the LPD was really banking on this theory working out by putting so much manpower behind it, and the fallout wouldn't be pretty if it fell through in any way.

"There aren't any other viable theories? Any evidence, or leads? Anything?" Gabe asked. He had to admit, he'd been gradually falling out of the communications loop ever since he'd been officially kicked off the case due to working with Sam, but surely they had come up with something on their own!

Judging by the assorted winces, toe scuffing, and neck scratching, they hadn't had the best luck.

"No forensics, no footage, no strong identifying factors from the few witness testimonies we have," Jody said, raking a hand through her cropped hair. The move was so uncharacteristic that Gabe thought he'd imagined her doing it before she repeated the motion again, "This guy is the definition of a phantom."

"Well, what about the taskforce?" Gabe asked. He was starting to get the feeling he was talking to a class that had utterly failed to prepare for the test at hand.

Donna winced, and a few people muttered darkly under their breaths.

"They've mostly just come up with a profile," she explained, "But I don't know how that'll hold up compared to the FBI's since we all know they'll just make their own."

Something that sounded suspiciously like "it's horseshit" floated above the mutters, and Gabe held back a laugh as Jody turned her eagle-eye onto the beat cops and quieted them with a single look.

"We do have some smaller leads," Garth interjected optimistically, "Like the graffiti! We've been exploring that as best as we can whenever we do our patrols. Except it all kind of pales in comparison when it's almost a certainty that Hoffman's going to be next."

"Besides, it's Chief's orders," Zeke suddenly said, his raspy voice quieting the others as he spoke. As one of the older cops there and a well-respected figure himself, he naturally drew their attention, "He listened to the taskforce's ideas, and the advice of a few others, and it all led to this."

"Wait, what?"

"I didn't know the task force recommended this!"

"So _they're_ the ones that came up with this crazy shift plan! Why are we the ones guarding Hoffman, and they're nowhere in sight?"

Gabe's eyes bounced back and forth between the various outraged and angry cops. It seemed very few of them had known that the task force had recommended this course of action, and judging by Zeke's face, he'd thought they'd been aware.

_Well, this is reminiscent of Bela's style. She always liked to foist the boring duties like long stakeouts to others when she could, so why not here and now?_

"I wish they'd kept you on the case."

Gabe turned to face Garth, who was looking at him with woeful puppy dog eyes. He looked lost and confused, reflecting what Gabe realized was the mindset of a lot of these cops. They weren't trained detectives. They were just the little guys that kept the city's cogs going; the literal blue-collar workers of the LPD. None of them knew much about serial killers, but they were expected to somehow catch him when he showed up. Maybe one couldn't, but surely six to eight would do the trick!

The logic was so horrible that Gabe just _knew_ that it had come from higher up on the food chain. Only the desk jockeys would endorse such an idea, and the worst part was that if it hadn't been The Crucifier, the excessive force idea might've worked.

_Except we're dealing with the motherfucking Crucifier; the worst thing to hit Lawrence since Yellow Eyes. The LPD is basically hoping that they'll be the unmovable object that finally bests the unstoppable force in this situation._

Gabe suddenly got a bad feeling that the LPD wouldn't come out on top like they were hoping. It churned in the pit of his stomach, close enough to a gut feeling that he couldn't just shake it off as paranoia.

"_Enough_!"

The sharp clap of Jody's hands brought them back to business, her stern voice leaving no room for argument as she spoke.

"We have our assignments, and we know our duties. Nothing else matters right now. We are members of the LPD, and we _will_ comport ourselves appropriately," she said, dark eyes flashing, "I know that this case has everyone stressed and worried and that there's no clear plan in place, but this isn't a normal, text-book scenario. Serial killers are a different brand of criminal, but that doesn't mean that we can't handle them. I _refuse_ to let this turn out like the last serial killer we had."

Silence fell over the group. Everyone was more or less aware of the basics behind what had happened the _last _time, and no one wanted a repeat. More was at stake here than just Hoffman's life; the reputation of the LPD hung in the balance alongside the city of Lawrence.

It made Gabe recall what Sam had said the night before about the city's nature. Something about powder kegs, and serial killers being the worst sort of spark that made everything blow up.

_I have to somehow make Hoffman realize that there is way more at stake here than the little bubble he's been living in._

"Everyone get to where you need to be. Gabe, Donna, with me," Jody ordered, clearly not needing anyone's opinion as she dismissed everyone.

No one questioned her. Gabe had seen enough of Jody in action to firmly believe that her legendary status in the department was credible. Besides, she had enough experience filled years under her belt that to go against her would be madness.

"Great speech, Jody. You really know how to boost morale amongst the ranks," he remarked, rushing to keep up with her stride as they approached the entrance of the apartment complex.

"It wasn't a speech," she said distractedly as she nodded approvingly at the new officers now beginning their guard shift, "Where's your shadow?"

It took Gabe an embarrassingly long moment to realize what she was referring to, but once he did, he had to fight to keep his cheeks from turning too pink.

"Oh! Uh, Sam's…busy," he said, his mouth for once not providing a suave answer like it usually did.

"Really? It just seems like he's always with you nowadays," Jody remarked as they strode towards the dingy elevator, boot heels clacking against the dull linoleum.

"You guys having relationship trouble?" Donna asked, forehead creased with concern as she fell into stride on Jody's left.

_Relationship trouble?_

"What-no! No, I don't have relationship-_no_, Donna," Gabe said, hands waving about before he made an X-motion as he said his final, decisive no.

Donna gave him a strange look, and he felt his face heat up with embarrassment before he took charge of his feelings and stamped them down so they wouldn't show so much. He was getting overly defensive for no reason whatsoever.

_It's not really relationship problems if I'm the only one struggling to cope with the definition of our relationship right now, is it?_

Gabe huffed out a frustrated breath, letting Jody's mini-rant about the way the patrols were set up wash over him. He _liked_ the way things were progressing with Sam; he was much more receptive and open with him, and instead of meeting him at his level wholeheartedly like he thought he'd be, Gabe was instead feeling doubtful and hesitant. Sam had entrusted a big secret with him, but when the time came, would he be able to do the same?

Maybe it was just the gravity of Sam's past muddling his brain. He had to admit, some of the details that Sam had revealed were more horrifying and heartbreaking than he'd anticipated, and he hadn't exactly had optimistic hypotheses about how Sam's childhood had played out. Some of it even reminded him of his own childhood, like the near nomadic lifestyle and the lack of a strong sense of home.

For a moment, the shabby lobby melted around him, and Gabe thought of the church. The last time he'd physically gone there was almost two years ago, but he could see the worn pews and wooden cross as easily as if he'd gone just yesterday.

_Could I tell him about this? About any of it?_

"Milton!"

"Still present and aware, Jodinator," he said automatically, even as his mind came back down with a hard crash from the brief daydream he'd slipped into.

Jody's dark eyes appraised him for a second, too sharp for their own good, but before she could say anything, the elevator arrived.

"Took it long enough," she grumbled, and Gabe took the chance to shake his head hard to get all thoughts of churches and homes and roads of his mind.

_Now's not the time for any of that, Milton. You got work to do!_

The elevator doors slid shut with a shaky, ominous thud. Above them, the bar of fluorescent light flickered and buzzed its way through what sounded like its final hours of life, but Gabe easily put the less than stellar conditions out of his mind as he wedged himself in the back corner to make room for the detectives. He'd been in worse places than this.

"What do you think Hoffman's even hiding?" Gabe asked as they made the slow, torturous ride up.

"No clue, but whatever it is, it's important. Every impression we've gotten whenever we've talked to him is that whatever it is, he's willing to take this secret to his grave." Donna said grimly, her blond hair washed out in the pale lighting.

"You'll have your work cut out for you," Jody added, glancing back at him over her shoulder.

Gabe only nodded and rolled his shoulders, letting out a long, slow breath.

The power of persuasion was a special skill of his, second only to his innate ability to find lost things. Unlike the latter ability though, Gabe had put conscious effort into developing what had once only been a quicksilver tongue that had gotten him out of trouble as a kid. Now, he could soothe traumatized witnesses and carefully work information from them, or he could push every button a suspect had and play them like a fiddle, working the tune from them that he wanted to hear. Words had power, and Gabe was _good_ with them.

It was this skill that let him be a successful nomadic P.I. His reputation for cracking the hardest nuts had preceded him, and many departments took him on simply for his ability to crack the toughest bastards the criminal underworld had to offer. Lawrence had taken him on in the beginning for this, but then they'd kept him on due to the high rate of unsolved cases they believed he could assist with.

The fourth floor smelled stale and, save for the officer standing guard outside of a door near the end of the hall, was empty. He tried to look as intimidating as possible as they approached, but it didn't exactly work considering he looked as if he was fresh out of the academy.

"I thought you were supposed to be inside with Hoffman, Jones?" Jody questioned, looking every bit like the stern senior detective as she crossed her arms and pursed her lips.

Jones gulped hard enough to make his prominent Adam's apple wobble, but his voice was surprisingly steady as he responded.

"I was ma'am, but Hoffman started on a rant about how he was tired of seeing my face, so Bertram and I decided we should switch so he wouldn't lose his cool again."

"Understandable," Jody said after a moment of thought, "You and your partner are dismissed. The shift is switching ahead of schedule."

"Thank you, ma'am," he said, clearly relieved to be gone as he knocked briskly on the door.

The group stepped inside, funneled down a narrow entrance hall that opened up into a small, sparsely decorated living room. Another officer, presumably Bertram, stood in the corner by the sole window, beefy arms crossed, and eyes squinted at Hoffman. Hoffman glared back from his seat on the couch.

"I don't want to talk to anyone else anymore. I already _told_ you I have nothing to say," Hoffman snapped dismissively without looking over at them.

"I feel so welcomed," Gabe said before anyone else could respond, stepping forward slightly and shoving his hands casually into his pockets, "No wonder everyone thinks you're an asshole."

"Gabe!" Donna hissed from behind him, but he could hear Jody muttering at her to stay out of it. Jody had seen him in action like this more than Donna and knew that he had many methods to get what he wanted out of people.

Hoffman looked up at his with startled eyes, clearly caught off guard by the blunt response before his eyes narrowed.

"You-you can't talk to me like that!"

"I can talk to you however I want," Gabe responded, a slow grin spreading across his face, "I'm not a police officer, buckaroo. _I'm_ the guy they call in for people like _you_."

All he'd needed was one look at Hoffman for him to determine that with him, he'd have to strike hard, fast, and with no mercy. Not only was the guy as problematic as he'd heard, but it was also clear that he believed his secret was safe from the LPD, his confidence appearing in his body language and his face.

Gabe would have to correct that idea.

A flicker of unease appeared on Hoffman's face, but he held firm as he turned his dark scowl at him.

"I don't care who you are, or who you _think_ you are. I'm innocent in all of this."

"Perhaps you are innocent," Gabe remarked, shrugging a bit and strolling forward to put a foot on Hoffman's shitty coffee table and rest an arm on his knee. It was a blatant show of how little he cared for Hoffman in general, and he knew the man got the message when his pointy nose twitched. "Which would mean that The Crucifier, a killer that has exclusively targeted people that have somehow wronged him, has somehow just made a mistake this time around, and has no reason to target you, right?"

Hoffman didn't say anything immediately in response, and despite the cool temperature of the apartment, a bead of sweat ran down his temple.

_Nervous already? And here I thought this might be an actual challenge._

Gabe made a contemplative sound before smiling and clapping his hands once.

"In that case, I should just tell the LPD to go home! I know these officers are tired of watching you, and the LPD can only expend so many resources," he said blasely, taking his foot off the table, "They do have a serial killer to catch, you know."

"But he _is_ coming after me!" Hoffman hissed; words sharp with indignant fear. "You guys said so yourself! He broke into my apartment and ransacked the place!"

Gabe moved fluidly, practically materializing in his new seat on the coffee table. Hoffman cringed back from the sudden proximity, but Gabe continued to lean, pinning him with his eyes like a hawk would a mouse.

"And why would he do that?" he asked, voice light and curious to offset his intense gaze. "He took an article of clothing, but he didn't have to tear up the place for that. No…he ransacked the place for something else."

The little fact in the report had slipped him by, but now that he was face to face with Hoffman, it seemed obvious. The trashed state of Hoffman's place didn't match the single sweater vest The Crucifier had taken to put in the library. There wasn't much _to_ trash in the place, which meant he hadn't done it to inspire fear. He'd been looking for something very important that Hoffman had.

_And that something is the secret that Hoffman is so desperately hiding._

Something physical, and small enough to steal away. Gabe's mind wanted to run with the possibilities in the same way he liked to run with other things, but he stayed on the coffee table and focused on the suddenly less confident, but no less stubborn man before him.

"I don't have anything a deranged killer could possibly want," Hoffman said, face turned slightly away as he swallowed hard enough to make his protruding Adam's apple bob.

"Now, why do I find that so hard to believe?" Gabe asked softly before standing and twirling on his heel to face Jody and Donna. The other officers had long left the room, their replacements no doubt on their way up.

"I have to make a call. A friend of mine is expecting to hear from me," he said, acting as if Hoffman were of little importance to him. He knew it would dent the man's ego, which is what he needed to do now right now. Hoffman was so wrapped up in his own self-importance that if Gabe wanted to get anything out of him, he would have to take him down a few pegs. "I'll be right back."

He strode past before they could say a word, shutting the door briskly behind him as he pulled out his phone.

Dialing Sam felt like the most natural thing in the world now. Gabe had never bothered looking for a work partner before. He'd never felt the need when he loved being independent and roaming about the country, but Sam was an exception that he was glad he'd made.

"Hey, Gabe."

"Hey Sammo," Gabe said, unable to help the smile on his face as he toed the ground, "How are you? Feeling alright?"

"Oh, I'm fine," Sam said, sounding pleasantly surprised, "Just catching up on house chores. Is everything alright with you?"

"I'm fine," Gabe replied, only partially lying. He felt better than he had this morning, but the niggling sensation that he should just _run _still lingered in his mind, "Listen, I got a chance to interview Hoffman, and I think that whatever he did to offend the killer involves some type of physical object. The Crucifier has to be targeting him for _some_ reason, but I just don't know what this guy could've done. So far, everyone else's offenses have been semi-serious, you know? But with the librarians, we don't really know much besides Wilkes's ex-husband being a gang member."

Gabe hated using Sam as a sounding board when in his opinion, the poor kid needed more than just a day off from all this madness, but he couldn't help it. Sam was just as smart as he was hot, and Sam didn't seem to mind.

"Huh…well, I think I might actually have some information that could help you out."

"Really? Have you been branching out on your own, my young pupil?" he teased.

"It's not like that! I just remembered an old rumor that went around campus, and I texted a couple of people to make sure I remembered it correctly. It's actually going around again with all the shit that's gone down, but that's not the point! The point is that considering the circumstances, it might actually have some truth to it."

"What's the rumor?"

There was a shuffling sound in the background like Sam had gotten up from his bed or the couch. Probably his bed considering how loud his couch springs were.

"So, get this. According to LU lore, the librarians have a master list of all the people they've kicked out. They have the right to kick out unruly students, but obviously, the Three Furies went above and beyond with who they kicked out," Sam started, "_Supposedly_, each librarian has a copy of this master list, which has the student's name and whatever transgression they committed. No one's ever seen this master list, and no one knows who started the rumor, so opinions are pretty split on whether or not it actually exists."

Every so often, Gabe's mind would take the puzzle pieces he'd been given and put them together so quickly that it left him light-headed. Sam had just given him the final puzzle piece, and with a rush, everything clicked in place for him.

"Sam, you're fucking _brilliant_. Absolutely brilliant," he breathed, "I've got to go, but I'll call you back!"

He hung up before Sam could get a word in edgewise and stepped back into the apartment with a renewed sense of vigor. Now that he had an idea of what Hoffman was guarding zo zealously, Gabe could focus his words and strike exactly where he needed to.

Jody and Donna looked up as he came in, and with a nod, they left the apartment. They knew the routine. Gabe noted with some amusement that Hoffman had apparently been supremely uncomfortable being left in their presence. He was practically curled up in the corner of the couch, unsure of what to do except to sneer at them.

The door shut with a thud of finality, echoing in the bland, forgettable apartment. Hoffman didn't look nearly as cocky now from his defensive position on the couch, and Gabe wondered if he sensed that his secret was in real danger now.

He'd been described in all sorts of ways when he got like _this_. It wasn't a consistent state of being, so he most likely looked different to different people, but he liked the description a detective in Miami had given him after he'd made a suspected pedophile confess to not only his crimes but also to where he'd buried the poor boys he'd killed.

"_I'd sure hate to cross your path when you got that look on your face, Milton. You looked like an avenging angel in there."_

Gabe strode forward to look out the sole window in the living room. The blinds were bent, and the view outside was dismal. Just an alley, and the neighboring building four or five feet away.

"You know, the nature of your relationship with Wilkes and Olsen really caught us all off guard," he started conversationally, "I have to admit, I really didn't expect Wilkes to have such a…_prolific_ collection of sex toys."

Out of the corner of his eye, Gabe saw a flush rise above Hoffman's collar.

"I only saw a glimpse of Olsen's crime scene photos," he continued, "But boy, were they graphic! The Crucifier really went all out. I'm glad I didn't go in when I arrived on the scene, because that was just over the top, even for him."

That was a partial truth. Gabe actually hadn't seen any of the crime scene photos, but he'd picked up enough of the muttered details and gossip on the scene that he had a pretty solid mental image, and it _was_ fairly graphic. He knew he'd have to get his hands on a copy of the report somehow, but a part of him _really_ didn't want to see it in any more detail than necessary.

"There was blood _everywhere_. I'm sure you know this, but he drains his victims dry to get it-"

"Shut _up_!"

_Bingo, _Gabe thought, tamping down the desire to smirk in satisfaction.

"Oh, no one's told you? Have they been keeping the details from your _innocent_ ears?" he asked casually, turning away from the window.

Hoffman flinched at the word 'innocent'; his response feeble at best.

"I-I have a weak stomach."

Gabe made a noncommittal, unsympathetic noise as he walked across the living room to stand near the small TV sitting on a clearly secondhand TV stand. He would've thought that one of the FBI agents would've gone bad cop on him and spilled some gory details, but maybe Hoffman's attitude had thrown them off their game.

"Your relationship with Wilkes and Olsen was unconventional, to say the least, but it made you close," he continued, crossing his arms loosely, "How did it start? Did you just want to keep your skin safe and your job intact, or were you really-?"

"What does it matter?" Hoffman snapped, a bitter spark lighting his words up. "They're dead, and whatever relationship we had doesn't pertain to the investigation!"

"Except it does," Gabe said, "When you mix work and play like that, you get caught up in people, and they start to _trust_ you."

Hoffman's face paled dramatically, and Gabe pressed onward, refusing to let up on the soft spot he'd hit.

(Even if his words resonated uncomfortably with his own life.)

"What did they trust you with, Hoffman?" he asked, taking a step forward. "Whatever it was, The Crucifier thought you kept it here. It's why he targeted all three of you, and why Wilkes and Olsen are dead now. It's why _you're_ the last man standing."

The couch suddenly seemed to swallow up Hoffman as he sank back into it. He was a reedy guy, and the bright morning light did him little favors. His face screwed up tight with restrained emotion for a moment before he bowed his head and hunched his shoulders.

"They may be dead, but I _can't_ betray them," he whispered, voice as taut as his muscles, "They wouldn't want me to say anything."

"They're dead and gone," Gabe said, voice almost harsh, "What will it matter to them? Or do you want to join them in the grave?"

Hoffman looked up sharply at him, and Gabe scoffed.

"You're supposed to be the smart grad student, right? Don't tell me that you couldn't figure out that the reason you're on The Crucifier's list is that he feels that you wronged him somehow. And the way you wronged him is tied to this pointless secret you're guarding."

"It can't! No one's even supposed to know they exist-"

He cut himself off, but Gabe leaped upon the word slipup, refusing to give Hoffman even an inch of leeway.

"They? So, there's multiple of whatever it is."

"_No_, there's nothing at all."

"Each of you had a _copy_ of whatever it was. Did you have to carry it around with you, or-"

"No! There's nothing!"

"Wilkes and Olsen probably carried theirs around, but not you. You left it somewhere-

Hoffman stood up quickly, every fiber of his being trembling as he pointed a shaking finger at Gabe. He had a few inches on him, but Gabe didn't feel threatened at all by the student. This was the desperate coward he'd pegged from the start, lashing out at anyone he felt got too close because he couldn't run or hide like he wanted to.

"There's…_nothing_," Hoffman finally managed to say after opening and shutting his mouth a few times.

Gabe looked at him coolly, his own stance calm and relaxed to counter Hoffman's tense figure. On the inside, he was practically ecstatic, because _this_ was the breaking point he'd been working towards.

_And the most delicate stage of all. If I push him the wrong way, he might clam up permanently, or do something drastic._

"Yes, there is," he said evenly, "And you're going to die for it for no reason. The Crucifier most likely has the copies that Wilkes and Olsen owned, so why are you trying to safeguard the one you have? He could do anything with the copies he has. He's left stuff for the LPD before. He could leave one of them for us if he wanted."

He was spouting pure bullshit at this point. Gabe had the suspicion that The Crucifier would do the exact opposite with this particular secret and its copies, but Hoffman didn't have to know that. The sole purpose of this seemingly logical reasoning he'd given was to poke holes in Hoffman's _own_ thought process.

Judging by Hoffman's face, it was working. A myriad of expressions crossed his face before he stepped back a bit and clenched his raised hand in a fist.

"No one would ever understand our relationship, but it mattered to _me_," he said, shaking his fist at him as one would at the heavens when raging against God, "If you were in my position, wouldn't you do the same?"

It took an incredible effort not to react outwardly at the thought of Sam being murdered. Gabe had to swallow twice to free his throat from the intense emotion that seized him.

He wasn't sure what he would do (Sam _dead_? It was just too inconceivable), but he did know one thing. Between him and Dean, whoever had done it wouldn't last long.

_Odd, that that's probably the one thing Dean and I would agree on._

"I would do whatever I could to make sure that the culprit was caught. I'd rather have that person caught, even if it cost me a secret," Gabe said, his voice as even as before, "Don't you think they'd want you to help catch The Crucifier?"

His final blow landed true, even if it took a moment for it to truly sink in. Victory came in the form of Hoffman slumping back onto the couch dramatically, his fist falling.

Gabe inhaled sharply once and straightened, but otherwise did nothing to react to the signs of defeat displayed. They weren't done yet, not until he got every last bit of information he needed.

"Olsen started it first, long before I even got to LU," he began, picking at the threadbare couch cushions, "But the list was purely a practical thing for her; a way to keep track of the true troublemakers. She hardly kicked anyone out, so it was just a small list of names. Then Wilkes was assigned to the library, and together they expanded upon it. Wilkes urged her to include more detail and kick out more people. They got close, and by the time I got there, it was a ridiculously long list."

Hoffman took a breath hard enough to rattle his lungs and grimaced.

"I stumbled across Olsen's copy accidentally. She'd left the flash drive that contained it plugged into her computer, and it was my first year working as an assistant in the library. I looked through it, and...God, it was _ginormous_. There were _hundreds_ of names and accompanying records of all of their infractions. Some were serious, but most were petty. A lot had been kicked out of the library for stupid crap, but they kept track of it all. They'd even included what students said when they got kicked out, mostly the empty threats people make when they're angry."

"I clicked out of it before they found out, and I just tried to put it out of my mind. It didn't sit right with me, but it wasn't my business. Then I got…_involved_ with them, and they gave me a copy. They said that I should carry it with me at all times, and not leave it just 'lying around'. It was a really big thing for them."

"Where is your copy?"

For some reason, Hoffman began to laugh. It had a hysterical edge to it, but it petered out quickly enough that Gabe didn't think it was anything more than just a side effect of the student finally revealing his secret. Sam had laughed like that a few times the night before when he'd truly started spilling his guts.

"They always put theirs in their purses, but I hated carrying it around," he explained, grinning as he shrugged. He'd reverted back to his old, pompous self. "So, I taped it to the underside of a drawer at the main circulation desk. How ironic is that? Bet The Crucifier never saw _that_ coming."

The irony wasn't lost on Gabe, but he was too busy reveling in the fact that, with Sam's help, his deduction was _right_ to really pay it much mind.

"I'll need a specific location, and then the LPD will go back to guarding you," he said, already pulling out his notebook.

"Sure, whatever," Hoffman said, relaxing against the couch. He then paused, visibly thinking for a long moment.

"Wait…who _are_ you anyway?"

Gabe grinned. A bit of the avenging angel must've shone through because Hoffman flinched a bit and didn't look _quite_ as haughty.

"Me? I'm Gabriel Milton, P.I and consultant for the LPD. Now, where's this flash drive?"

…

"Remember the Powell family murders?"

Gabe looked at Jody inquisitively. They were leaning against his Beetle, enjoying the warmth of the early spring sun on their faces. The wind had abated enough for a bit that if they tried hard enough, they could pretend it wasn't about 40 degrees tops outside. Donna had gone to pick up the coffee that acted as a thank-you for getting Hoffman to crack.

He hadn't told them about the specific flash drive that was still in the WM library though. It had been the one request Hoffman had asked of him, and when he'd gone to deny him, the student had only partially relented. If the LPD had possession of one of the flash drives, he should say that it'd been misplaced, but if they didn't, then Hoffman would allow him to reveal the one he was supposed to possess.

Gabe suspected it was Hoffman's last-ditch attempt to respect Wilke's and Olsen's wishes, but it mattered little to him what the reasoning was. The point was, the LPD _did_, in fact, have a flash drive in their possession (Wilke's apparently had more to offer in death than her sex toy collection) and were extremely disappointed that all this hullaballoo was made over what seemed to them was a moot point.

_But for me, it means I have a flash-drive to retrieve._

The likelihood of him being put back on the case was unlikely now that the FBI was on the scene. This whole thing with Hoffman had been off the books and had only happened because enough members of the LPD had gotten sick of the way things were going and decided to collectively say fuck it. Gabe could get people to sneak him information, but that would take precious time that they couldn't afford. Jody and Donna could barely get him snippets as it was, and they were major figures in the case.

Therefore, Gabe would have to operate more than a little outside of the law with this one. Not only did this third flash drive fall into a moral gray zone (_technically_ he hadn't lied about it so much as omitted key information), but it would also require breaking and entering into the hottest crime scene in Lawrence.

It wasn't the way he thought his day would go, but Gabe had very little personal scruples when it came to following a lead. He did his job well, and that meant doing whatever it took to solve the case.

"What about them? Those were what, six or seven months ago?" he asked, brow creasing in confusion.

Jody nodded, swinging one leg over the other to cross at her ankles. The lines on her face had relaxed enough that she looked more herself, and less like the stressed detective trying to keep the case on the right course.

"A whole family murdered. We were _convinced_ that the guy the wife had been having an affair with had done it until you single-handedly exposed the husband's side gig selling coke and the equally secret business partner that had framed the wife's lover and was the real murderer."

"It would've been a decent frame-up job if he'd remembered to clean his car," Gabe said with a shrug, "For some reason, they _always_ forget the clean their cars out."

Jody smiled faintly before her expressions shifted to something more serious.

"You've got the same look on your face as you did last time," she said, gesturing vaguely at him, "When you came out of the interrogation room after getting him to confess, you had that look, and later that day I caught you cleaning out the little desk we'd given you. You were going to book it that night, remember?"

Gabe froze. He _did_ remember, but he didn't think Jody had been watching him so keenly today.

"I convinced you to stay by basically shitting on the department," she said with a wry grin, "Our crime rate is so high, and you're good at what you do, so could you stick around for just a few more months? It took a bit of cajoling, but it worked, and I got you to stay."

"It's…not like that this time," Gabe managed to say through his shock.

Jody nodded sagely, "No, it's not. You want to run for a different reason."

"How do you…no, I don't even _want_ to know," he muttered, crossing his arms defensively and averting his gaze to the pavement.

A hand landed on his shoulder, grasping it lightly. Gabe looked at it curiously before looking at Jody, who looked out of her depth, but determined.

"You're no coward, Gabe. In fact, you're probably one of the bravest people I know, and that's saying something. However, you're _also_ one of the stupidest dumbasses I know, which is why I'm saying this to you now."

Gabe managed to huff out a laugh, and Jody's lips quirked before she continued.

"Don't run. You'll regret it for the rest of your life if you do, and you won't ever be able to outrun that regret. Stay and stand your ground. It might be easier than it first seems."

She clapped his shoulder once firmly before leaving hurriedly to greet Donna, who had pulled up the coffee. Her uncharacteristic words of support had clearly embarrassed her, and she'd certainly overcompensate with stern words to make herself feel better.

_Typical Jody, _he thought fondly, shaking his head as he started after her, _She did this the last time too._

Jody did have a point. The desire to just hop into his reliable Beetle and skedaddle was still there, but she was right when she said that he wouldn't be able to outrun the regret. Gabe had enough experience trying to outrun emotions to know that it was a hopeless task. They just stuck around, always keeping up with him no matter what sort of pace he set.

Gabe didn't quite understand what she meant when she'd said that staying might be easier than it seemed (because it really _wasn't_), but as he accepted his extravagant coffee drink from Donna and bore the brunt of Jody's gruffness, he decided that he'd figure it out later. Right now, he had a serial killer to catch and a crime to commit.

_Oh, the joys of being a P.I._

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Finals are over for me! I'm proud to say that I did very well on all of them and got A's in every class this semester, even my dreaded math course. One semester down, and a gazillion more to go!

Anyway, as for where I've been before all this: basically school and life. In November, I did participate in NaNoWriMo using Reactivity. For those of you that don't know, it's basically a writing event where you write 50k in a month. I did it and won, and chapters 9-14 are the result of it! They need heavy editing cause I just wrote like a madman in November, but they are written and will be up this month since I'm on break.

Thank you for sticking with me! I can promise that Chapter 15 will contain the moment you all have been waiting for, and I am eager to post some more before I'm inevitably sucked back into college.


	11. Dream Team

**Chapter 11: Dream Team**

The subway ride to LU was one of the most peaceful rides Sam had been on. It was downright uncharacteristic for the train to be so quiet, but as they got closer and closer to LU, the cars just kept getting emptier and emptier.

Sam observed the phenomenon from his seat, arms wrapped around the backpack on his lap. The few people on board kept to themselves, their individual auras subdued or drawn into themselves as they eyed each other warily, or pointedly looked at no one at all. Sam got some looks himself despite his attempt to look as nonthreatening as possible. It was, however, a fairly impossible task when he was over 6 ft tall and made the seats look like they were built for children.

He barely paid the passengers any mind anyway. Sam's curiosity was practically eating him up from the inside over where the case could possibly be leading them now. All Gabe would say over the phone was that pursuing this particular lead would require some discussion before they did anything.

That had thrown Sam for a loop, as the P.I had sounded deadly serious when he'd explained that they could get in a lot of trouble for checking this out.

"_We could get in deep shit for this Sam, so when we talk it over and you don't want to get involved, I'll completely understand."_

Sam had tried to say that his family history of crime-fighting hadn't exactly left him a saint and that'd he'd do just about anything for him at this point, but Gabe had continued on before he could get a word in and told him to meet him at their Starbucks.

It was probably for the best anyway. Sam wasn't sure what the P.I would make of such a sappy statement from him, and he didn't want to say something like that over the phone when it should be said in person.

The streets weren't empty when Sam emerged from the underground, but they might as well have been. Sidewalks that were usually filled with scores of rushing college students and regular Lawrence citizens just trying to make their way through LU territory were now barren. A few students that most likely lived in the on-campus dorms were out and about, but that was about it.

_People are starting to get that this guy isn't going to stop anytime soon, _he thought as he entered the Starbucks, _Good thing I'm not living in the dorms anymore. They're probably freaking out over there right now._

Gabe was sitting at what Sam now thought of as their table, the sun bringing out the blond in his hair and making his aura shine even brighter. There was a strange, tense edge to it that Sam couldn't decipher, but overall the P.I looked good.

Actually, he looked _really_ good. Sam had developed a preference for the black jacket Gabe was wearing a while back, and with that black shirt underneath…

_It's like he's _trying_ to kill me._

"Please tell me you haven't had too much sugar today," he remarked as he walked up. There was a ginormous cup sitting in front of Gabe, and it was nearly empty.

"I couldn't refuse when Donna got it for me, so blame all of my jittery actions after this cup on her," he responded, getting up with a smile.

Sam was confused for a brief moment before Gabe hug-tackled him, wrapping his arms and aura around his middle. He managed to get an arm around Gabe's shoulders and squeeze (you should've _expected_ that by now, Winchester) before the P.I pulled back, sitting down just as quickly as he'd gotten up.

"Drink up. We got a lot to discuss," Gabe said, gesturing to the steaming cup in front of him.

Sam took the drink and sipped at it, studying the P.I and his aura. That tense edge he'd spotted earlier flared up a bit, the color wild and struggling against the typical golds and pastels. Sam had never seen anything like it before in Gabe's aura, and it concerned him enough that he had to ask.

"Gabe…are you ok?"

Gabe's bright face crumpled a bit, the smile he'd had upon seeing him slipping a bit.

"Don't tell me you can tell too. For God's sake, I'm not _going_ anywhere," he grumbled, jabbing at the bottom of his cup with the straw.

Sam wasn't 100% sure what Gabe was referring too, but he hadn't gotten a full ride to LU because he had a pretty face. It only took him a moment for him to combine the man's aura, his jiggling leg beneath the table, and his drifting gaze outside to where his Beetle was parked to form a conclusion that he _really_ didn't like.

His hands squeezed into fists as his stomach dropped. Sam bit his lip, chewing the already chapped skin raw before he decided that they had to address this before anything else.

"You thinking of leaving?"

Gabe's eyes flew back to his face, wide and surprised before his mouth set into a hard line.

"No! I've thought of it-Jesus, Sam, I can't _help_ it," he said harshly, splaying his hands on the table, "I'm a runner. Always have been. And I've been in Lawrence for a long time by my standards, and sometimes I just…get the urge to pack up shop and leave."

"It's not because of what I told you yesterday, is it?" Sam asked, his voice much smaller than he wanted it to be.

"_No_. It has nothing to do with that," Gabe said, nearly knocking over his cup in his haste to grasp his hands, "You could never scare me away with anything you told me."

Sam wasn't sure if that sentiment would stretch to cover the other aspects of him that he hadn't told Gabe yet, but he could tell that through his frustration, he was wholly sincere.

_And that's good enough for me, _he thought, something inside him easing as he saw the sentiment reflected in the man's still struggle filled aura.

"I get it," he murmured, rubbing his thumbs over the back of Gabe's hands, "It's hard to try to change the way you live."

Gabe's eyes fixed on their hands, his brow creasing as he slowly flipped their hands over so he could lace their fingers together.

"I'm not leaving," he declared. Sam thought he said it just as much for himself as he had for his benefit, "I don't-I don't plan on leaving you. And the case. I never leave a case unsolved you know."

He spoke quickly, but Saw had seen the mini-explosion of white in Gabe's aura when he'd said that he wouldn't leave him and reveled in it.

"I know," he beamed, "You're braver than you think, Gabe. And too stubborn to quit when the going gets rough."

"It's like you and Jody are mind linked or something!" the P.I exclaimed, pulling away to gesticulate as he spoke, "She said something similar to me not even an hour ago!"

With that, Gabe launched into recounting what he'd done that morning in more detail, focusing on what Hoffman had told him. Sam was shocked to learn that not only did the master list exist but that it was much more detailed and carefully maintained than the gossipmongers could've ever imagined.

"You know, Olsen had been working there for almost fifteen years," Sam remarked, still trying to wrap his mind around the sheer scale of the list, "If she really kept records from the time she started…there has to be _thousands_ of names on that list."

"But that's the kicker, Sammo! For our purposes, we only need to look through the most recent names," Gabe said with a wicked glint in his eyes.

Sam cocked his head, momentarily confused before he managed to comprehend what the P.I was implying.

"The killer's probably on that list," he said slowly, eyes widening as Gabe smiled triumphantly, "Holy crap, of course, he is! That's the main reason why all three of them were targeted. They must've kicked him out, and he got angry!"

"Bingo, Sam-a-lam. One flash drive was recovered by the LPD, and the other is still in the air, but at this point is probably in The Crucifier's hands," Gabe said, counting them off on one hand. "And then there's Hoffman's flash drive. It's in the WM right now, and the only people that know besides him is you and me."

"You want to retrieve it."

It wasn't a question; it was a statement and a neutral one at that. Sam understood now what Gabe had meant when he said that they had to discuss this.

Gabe nodded, and took a deep breath to no doubt launch into a speech that would probably go something along the lines of "I'd appreciate your help with this but if you don't want to break into a crime scene then that's perfectly ok and I'll do it on my own."

Maybe it was because he'd trusted Gabe with so much yesterday, or maybe because he had woken up feeling more comfortable in his own skin than he had in months, but Sam didn't need to hear it.

"I'll help you," he said, holding up a hand before Gabe could even start, "And before you say it's illegal and dangerous, I'm well aware and I'm willing to take the risk. It's not like I haven't done anything like this before."

Gabe blinked owlishly, and Sam smiled at the cute expression before shrugging casually.

"I've broken into crime scenes before. Keeping the streets clean wasn't always running around rooftops and fighting thieves in back alleys."

Sam thought his explanation was perfectly alright now that Gabe knew how he'd grown up, but he was completely taken aback by the shades of orange and red anger that flickered to life in Gabe's aura. The only outer reaction that reflected this was the short, sharp exhale from his flared nostrils.

"I hate how _normal_ you make it sound," the P.I said with a wan smile that showed he wasn't mad at Sam, but rather at what he'd lived through, "But you have a point. If I'm going to do this with anyone, it's gotta be you."

"Well, _duh_. That's what partners are for, right?"

"I suppose they are," Gabe mused playfully, "But are you _sure_? This is pretty serious."

"I know, and I'm sure," Sam assured.

And, for once, Sam really _was_ sure right off the bat. Yes, he could get arrested and kicked out of LU for this if he was caught, but they wouldn't get caught. He'd done this before, and he and Gabe worked together far too well for there to be any slip-ups on their part.

Perhaps a normal person would be more hesitant, or just flat out deny Gabe's request, but after yesterday, Sam didn't feel the need to question things when it came to Gabe. He'd proven that he could be trusted with some of the dark, bad bits of his life that he harbored, so Sam would trust Gabe back. His trust was hard-earned, but he didn't have the deep-seated trust issues Dean had, so Sam was confident that the initial trust he'd given Gabe a couple of weeks back hadn't been misplaced.

Gabe looked at him for a long moment with a gaze so piercing that Sam had to remind himself that the man couldn't see auras. He looked back just as steadily, hoping that his resolve to follow through on this lead with the P.I showed through his eyes.

It must have, because Gabe grinned, clearly satisfied with whatever he'd seen.

"Then what are we waiting for? Let's go!"

…

The plan Sam created was based on a tried and true method that he'd learned from his father. Background figures that were supposed to be in the place that a crime had been committed were largely ignored by the police, so all they had to do was disguise themselves as workers and slip in and out. Simple, straightforward, and effective. Sam had no doubt that the core of the plan would work in this setting too, no matter how hot the WM crime scene was at the moment.

Of course, all plans are perfect when created, but not nearly as infallible when executed. It also didn't help that Sam was breaking into a crime scene with _Gabriel Milton_.

"I _know_ I have mustaches around here somewhere," Gabe muttered as he rummaged through the backseat of the Beetle, "Which mustache do you think I should use, Sammy?"

The sole reason Sam didn't automatically negate the use of the dreaded nickname was because the current view he had of Gabe's ass was stellar. He'd had taken glances every now and then, but he'd never really gotten a chance to look without interruption before.

"Whichever one you find first," he replied distractedly, foot-tapping rhythmically against the asphalt as he ran through the problems they'd already encountered.

Originally, they were both going to disguise themselves as janitors and sneak in that way. However, upon breaking into one of the nearby staff rooms to check out what the uniforms looked like, they'd discovered that none of the brown, one-piece suits were big enough for Sam. They'd spent ten minutes looking for the spare uniforms, and upon _finally_ locating them in a large box on a shelf that had been a downright bitch to find, discovered that the spares only went up to a certain size that was far below what Sam needed.

In hindsight, Sam should've anticipated that it might've been a problem, but it still irked him that apparently all of the janitors were below 6 feet. Did they just not hire people that couldn't fit into the uniforms they had?

Gabe had had a field day with the discovery until Sam had modified the plan so that he'd hide in a janitor's cart that Gabe would push around. The P.I had begun to squawk and complain that there was _no way_ he'd be able to push a 'gargantuan man of muscle' around until Sam buttered up his ego a bit.

"_I think you can do it," Sam said, letting his eyes trail suggestively over Gabe's torso, "You're pretty fit."_

_The complaining stuttered to a stop, replaced by a reddening Gabe who rubbed his arms awkwardly._

"_I-er, I mean, I guess you have a point…"_

"_There's no need to be modest," Sam chided, smiling slowly as he let his gaze rest on Gabe's biceps, "I know _exactly_ what you're hiding underneath that jacket. It'll be a piece of cake for you."_

_Gabe practically preened as his aura turned towards pleased, pastel lemon shades. _

"_Yeah…yeah, I got this," he said, clearing his throat and smirking. The brash, confident look he was going for was ruined by his still red cheeks, but Sam wisely kept quiet about how cute the attempt was as Gabe began to brag about his physique._

"Got one!" Gabe exclaimed, straightening up (much to Sam's disappointment) and brandishing what looked like a chunk from a very bristly hairbrush.

"You _can't_ be serious," Sam said incredulously as the P.I carefully smoothed the thick, black mustache onto his face. It was the fakest mustache he'd ever seen, right down to the slight curl at the ends.

Gabe, of course, had the nerve to twirl the ends of the mustache and grin at him. The sight was so unnerving that Sam couldn't even come up with the words to chastise him on the poor disguise.

"I think this one's one of my better ones," he said, still grinning, "I've got this really horrendous ginger one I had to wear when I worked this insane case in Tallahassee, but that's a whole other story."

"It…" Sam started, furrowing his brow before finally coming up with something to say, "It doesn't even match your _hair_."

What was supposed to be a devastating blow to the longevity of the mustache on Gabe's face was deflected by Gabe's waggling eyebrows and the magical appearance of a jar in his hands.

"Magical hair gunk to darken my hair," he explained, sticking the jar onto the roof of the Beetle before turning to rummage once more through the back, "And something else…"

Flabbergasted didn't even _begin_ to cover Sam's emotional range at the absurd situation unfolding before him. Gabe's aura showed that he wasn't kidding around in the slightest beyond the ingrained color Sam had long associated with the jokester aspect of his personality, which meant he was _serious_.

_Oh. My. God._

"Found them! I've also got contacts," Gabe grunted, wiggling himself out from the backseat.

Sam enjoyed _that_ particular motion too much to joke the P.I on the ridiculousness of the wiggle. All he could do was stare as Gabe shook the little box with a proud, happy smile.

_I can't even say anything when he looks like that, _he thought with a groan, _This is absolutely ridiculous, but what the hell?_

"You'll be unrecognizable," Sam said gravely.

Gabe beamed, and Sam decided that it didn't matter how silly the whole thing was when it put that sort of smile on Gabe's face.

"Alright, now I just have to get ready and then it's go-time!" the P.I said eagerly, gathering all of his goods in his arms and kicking the door shut in an impressive display of flexibility.

It occurred to Sam that he was looking at Gabe a _lot_ today and that it wasn't exactly innocent looking. However, Gabe looked at him all the time, so it was alright to take some looks back, as long as they just remained looks for the time being.

"Don't get too eager yet. I haven't even explained the whole plan!" Sam said, quick to rein in Gabe's excitement as they began to walk through the parking garage they'd chosen. The car was just too recognizable to park anywhere on LU, so Sam had directed him to either stick it in a garage or park at least five blocks away from campus.

"Well, talk to me Sam-a-lam!"

Sam tsked before shrugging off his backpack and unzipping it, tugging at Gabe's elbow to get him to stop.

"First, you can give that stuff to me," he said practically, waiting until the P.I dumped everything inside with a pout before continuing, "And second, take that mustache off."

Gabe gasped, looking the most affronted Sam had seen him yet. He only rolled his eyes at the P.I's indignation and reached over to (carefully; he wasn't an asshole) peel the mustache off.

"You can't walk around with it before you're fully disguised, dumbass," he said, hating how fond he sounded as he tugged Gabe's shirt collar down enough to stick the mustache inside and out of sight. He did it as quickly as possible but still found himself lingering on the shadowed curve of his collar bone and the glint of an unknown charm on the thin cord of a previously unseen necklace.

Gabe's aura shone like a beacon in the gloom of the garage, tendrils of it skidding across his forearms in a playful, warm touch that beckoned him closer just as his eyes did.

Sam shoved down the sudden surge of _desire_ that had raced up and tried to seize him whole, and let his fingers linger for only a second longer before he cleared his throat and pulled Gabe's collar back up into its rightful place.

"So it doesn't lose its stickiness," he explained lamely, gesturing at Gabe's chest.

"It's a very sticky mustache," Gabe replied quietly, but it didn't sound like he was complaining about Sam's poorly thought out action at all.

Still, Sam did his best to keep his hands to himself as they trekked through campus. Just because Gabe hadn't minded it didn't mean that he should just thoughtlessly encroach into his personal space like that, and besides, they had work to do. Sam couldn't afford to be distracted when the plan relied so much on him being able to do half of the more specialized skills he hadn't utilized in nearly two years.

_Well, for starters, you should probably _explain_ the plan to him, Winchester. _

"Right," Sam muttered, tugging on his fringe as he realized that they'd been walking in awkward silence for a few minutes at this point instead of _discussing the plan_. He needed to get his head into the game.

"What was that, kiddo?"

"Nothing. You ready to break into the only building in Lawrence to fall victim to a serial killer's crimes twice?"

Gabe snorted with amusement, and just like that, the tension that had formed between them dissipated.

"I never thought of it like that," he mused, "That library's going to be cursed as hell when all this is over with. But I'm ready if you are!"

He threw down the challenge like a gauntlet, and Sam rose to the occasion with gusto. It felt like it'd been forever since he'd seen Gabe like this: cocky, joking, and a little arrogant. He hadn't paid much attention to _why_ he'd liked this side of Gabe back when they first met, but Sam could kick himself now for not realizing that he was into Gabe sooner. He'd always enjoyed a challenge.

"I'm always ready," he said with a crooked smile that he'd been told made him look ready for a fight, "I am going to have to stretch before we go in though. It's been a while, and I don't want to pull a muscle."

Gabe faltered, confusion coloring his aura, and Sam's smile widened. The P.I was probably going to _flip_ once he heard the full plan.

"Alright, so we've established that you'll disguise yourself as a janitor, and I'll hide in the cart. You won't break character, and I won't make a peep."

"Yup," Gabe said impatiently, practically vibrating by his side.

"Just checking!" Sam exclaimed, smothering a laugh, "Now, here comes the good bit. You'll roll me in on the cart to the second floor; third works too in a pinch. All you have to do is get me to the railing, and I'll climb down to the main circulation desk-"

"Why am I already _not_ liking this plan?" the P.I interjected, aura already turning orange.

"I've scaled larger distances before," Sam assured, "And I'm good at it. Typically, I'd have a rope, but I've done it without one plenty of times."

"That doesn't make me feel better! Not even a harness system and a- hell, I don't know, a fucking _parkour expert_ could make me feel better about this! What if you fall, and your brains go splat everywhere? That's a waste of a good brain right there!"

Gabe was getting himself worked up faster than Sam had anticipated, his hands waving this way and that as his aura alternated between outraged and concerned for his safety. On any other occasion, he would've let Gabe go on until he ran out of steam, but Sam sensed that this method wasn't what he needed right now.

Sam reached a hand over to smooth his thumb over the creases in Gabe's brow, effectively silencing the man if only for a moment. The only reason he'd let himself do it was because he'd done it several times at this point and the motion was now as familiar as a back-pounding hug with Dean or a tiny fist bump with Ben when he accomplished something tough.

"Remember that chase when I cleared the gap between the roofs?"

Gabe nodded reluctantly, harrumphing as he crossed his arms.

"I can't even count the number of heart attacks I had that night," he grumbled, but Sam saw that he was beginning to understand the point when his aura softened slightly, "You…were very impressive in that chase."

"If I can run around on rooftops, I can handle this easy peasy," Sam pointed out.

After a moment's thought, Gabe ran his hands over his face and through his hair, disrupting the carefully swept-back strands.

"Ughhhhhh. Fine! I can't believe I'm going along with this, but fine," he said, giving in with a dramatic flop of his arms to his side.

Sam smiled triumphantly, and they started walking and talking animatedly again, getting caught up in the thrill of what they were about to do.

Their preparation spot was the building closest to the library, which happened to be a science building Sam wasn't very familiar with. All he knew was that it held a bunch of laboratories, which meant that it was bound to have a large janitor's closet.

Sneaking in was as simple as just walking in with Sam's student ID. Just because they had canceled class didn't mean that _all_ the buildings were closed, as some professors were no doubt keeping their office hours going. LU was no doubt getting some flak for not completely shutting down the campus, but it was a big place, and Sam knew that the administration hated going into complete shutdown mode.

Today, it worked in their favor, and finding the largest janitor's closet in the building was child's play. The layout of the building was similar enough to other buildings Sam was more familiar with, and they were even lucky enough to have a bathroom in the same hall.

"Moustache time!" Gabe said gleefully, and Sam rolled his eyes before critically examining the cart situation before him.

It was a decent-sized cart; similar to the ones used for rolling large amounts of laundry around in a hotel. The cart was divided in half, leaving a large space that had a lid in the front for miscellaneous items and the back for the usual broom, mop, etc. The back was covered with a curtain, and upon lifting it, Sam saw that they'd gotten really lucky. For whatever reason, the divider only went down halfway, and the back half of the cart covered by a curtain only had a lip about six inches high to keep the cleaning products sitting in the bottom from spilling out. If he sat with his back pressed to the front and his legs squeezed through the gap, he'd fit.

"Now we're talking," Sam said with a grin as he began to clear out the bottom of the cart. It was pretty dirty, but it wasn't the worst place he'd hidden in before. A hotel laundry he'd hidden in once had definitely been worse than this.

"Has your beautiful brain found a solution to the cart issue? Cause that looks pretty tiny for you to be hopping into."

Sam glanced up at Gabe, ready to retort with a sassy affirmative, and had to swallow back an automatic exclamation of surprise.

The man had already combed through his hair with the mysterious temporary hair dye, making it nearly pitch black. He was also halfway dressed, with his legs in the uniform and only his shirt left on top, exposing part of the ouroboros tattoo on his arm. Without the mustache, Gabe actually looked sort of hot like this, and when he turned his face, the sentiment was only cemented for Sam. His eyes stood out even more with the added contrast of his hair, made pale by the bathroom's stark lighting.

"Uh, yeah. I figured it out," Sam replied, entranced by the new version of Gabe standing before him, "Do you use that stuff often?"

Gabe tilted his head in thought as he pulled the mustache out from his shirt and applied it to his face.

"Depends. I did more so back when I was first starting out and did more usual P.I work. Stuff like tracking missing people or getting shots of cheating partners. It's easy for me to make my hair darker than anything else," he said, turning back towards the mirror and striking a silly pose with the mustache.

Sam made a strained noise of acknowledgment before sticking his head back into the cart, willing his flaming cheeks to hurry up and cool off.

_It should be illegal for him to use that stuff, _he thought frantically as he shoved his backpack into the cart, _He has no right to look that good!_

To help take his mind off of Gabe's appearance, Sam began to stretch out a bit. Luckily, keeping up with a semi-regular exercise routine hadn't taken all his flexibility away, so he managed to loosen up quickly as Gabe completed the final touches of his disguise.

"That's…actually pretty good," Sam commented once Gabe was all done. The P.I had put in dark contacts, and all together, he looked different enough that at first glance, it was hard to say if he was Gabe or not. People that were more familiar with him would see through it with prolonged study, but for their situation, it worked.

"Disguises are probably the best part about being a P.I. They're really corny and cliché, but you'd be surprised at how effective they can be," Gabe said, twirling his mustache one last time before shoving his hands into the suit's pockets, "The average person doesn't look very hard at someone they're just passing by."

He was right. People's gazes tended to slide by those they didn't know when they were out and about, or someone they weren't talking to for long. Of course, no matter how much Sam tried to play at being average, he operated differently. Auras naturally drew his attention in and held it, leading him to notice far more than he wanted to about strangers.

"Ready to get into the cart?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," Sam said, wrinkling his nose as he peered into the interior of the cart. He'd need a shower once they'd successfully completed this hare-brained escapade.

Gabe watched patiently (and a bit eagerly what with all that cherry red in his aura) as Sam stripped down to just his T-shirt and jeans. He even removed his shoes and socks, explaining that it'd give him better traction.

"I'll pay for a pedicure once we're done with all this. I don't even want to _think_ about the germs you're collecting on your feet right now," Gabe remarked, holding the cart steady so Sam could clamber in.

Sam went in legs first, sliding them through the gap in the divider before folding them up as best as he could. Then he settled in with his back pressed in one corner of the front, hunching his shoulders and sliding down until he was settled in as best as possible. It wasn't as tight a squeeze as he thought it'd be, but he'd definitely have a crick in his neck tomorrow morning.

Gabe's face appeared above him, arms resting on the edge of the cart as he smiled down. His new appearance made it a little harder to read his face, but his aura told Sam that he was both surprised and very amused.

"I'm impressed by your flexibility. For a second I didn't think it'd be possible."

"It pays to be limber," Sam said before something occurred to him, "Crap! Can you go through my bag and pull something out for me before we go?"

The item in question was a hairband. Lisa had given him a pack jokingly a while back when she'd noticed he'd stopped getting haircuts, but Sam had found that they were pretty effective at keeping his fringe back. If he was going to be scaling walls, he'd rather have it back and out of his face.

"There, that's better," Sam mumbled as he tied his hair back, uncaring that he probably looked stupid with a tiny ponytail sprouting upward from his head, "Gabe?"

He looked up to see the P.I staring at him before he reached out a hand and gently bopped his ponytail.

"That's fucking adorable," he declared.

Sam's face turned red enough to rival a tomato. He wasn't _adorable_; he was a grown man!

"Hurry up and shut the lid," he grumbled, hiding his face in his arms.

Gabe chuckled but did as he asked. A second later, Sam was immersed in darkness that was only broken by the slices of light that came in between the gaps where the curtain didn't quite reach by his feet.

_Here goes nothing._

The cart ride was quite possibly one of the worst things Sam had ever experienced. He could feel every bump and dip in the sidewalk once Gabe got outside, and the cart was drafty. He was sore and cold before they'd even gotten halfway to the library, and he voiced his displeasure while he still had the chance.

"My neck hurts."

Gabe's voice was muffled, but still audible over the constant rumbling of the wheels.

"I know, kiddo."

"It's _cold_. My feet are going to be blocks of ice by the time we get there."

"I'll get you warmed back up in my car once we're done."

Sam paused. He had to admit, that sounded nice, so he ceased his whining (he wasn't a whiner, but he felt like it was alright to do it with the P.I) until they hit a particularly rough patch and Sam banged his head against the cart.

"_Shit_. Sorry kiddo, this thing's got a bum wheel," Gabe hissed, and Sam groaned in response.

"You owe me _food_ after this," he said, rubbing his temple. It wasn't the worst head injury in the world, but he'd need aspirin for the headache he was sure to have.

"Anything you want, kiddo."

Sam grunted in response, but settled down for the rest of the ride, soothed by Gabe's words. The cart dampened how much of his aura he could sense, but Sam could tell that the P.I was being sincere.

"Almost there," Gabe said after a few minutes, and Sam braced himself as the cart was rolled up an incline. It was a long enough incline that he knew that Gabe had gone around to the back just like he'd told him to, as the back-service entrance had a large ramp. The WM library was one of the few buildings this deep into campus with such a thing.

Sam heard the jingle of the keys they'd taken from the janitor's staffroom. Logically, they should work on the service entrances, but Sam couldn't be sure. If push came to shove, he figured either of them could pick the lock. Gabe had informed him that he was a good lock picker, and Sam didn't doubt him for a second.

"How's it going?" he asked after a long minute of key fumbling, daring to peek his head past the lid a bit.

"Not so good, but then there's like twenty keys on this ring," Gabe said, clearly irritated as he flicked through the keys.

"Well, take your time, but not too much time."

Gabe turned to glare at him, making it clear that his (admittedly useless) encouragement wasn't welcome.

"Andddddd I'll just keep my mouth shut," Sam said, retreating back into the cart as Gabe began to mutter dangerously under his breath.

Less than a minute later, they were in, rolling along on much more even flooring. Sam kept quiet as they turned left and right, trusting that Gabe was navigating them in the correct direction. All he could tell from within the cart was when they went from carpeted sections to tile.

"So far so good," Gabe whispered, barely audible above an automated ding. They had already reached the back elevator.

"Is there really no one here?" Sam asked once the doors slid shut.

"Nobody so far," the P.I replied, "I think we got lucky and they've just finished processing everything. Everyone's always eager to skedaddle when that's over and done with."

"We might just pull this off," Sam muttered incredulously as the doors dinged open.

"Not might. Will!" Gabe said confidently as they rolled out onto what Sam was sure was the second floor.

After a solid minute of travel, Sam felt the cart nudge against what felt like a railing before stopping. The jingle of the keys moving away let him know that Gabe was scouting the floor, so he settled in to wait patiently.

Sam had to admit, he was feeling more eager than nervous about retrieving this flash drive. He hadn't done anything daring in a long time before the case, and a larger part of him that he'd expected relished putting the skills he'd let gather dust to use. It was like a part of himself he'd nearly forgotten was waking up, stretching in the sun and getting ready to go.

He'd purposefully shoved it down when he'd left for college, but now that Sam was applying it to the case, it didn't feel as much as a burden as it had before. It felt more natural and comfortable putting them to use like this, because in his head, Sam was just helping a good friend out. It was an overly simplified way of looking at it all, but it worked for him.

It also helped that for the first time, Sam was beginning to separate what he knew from the past he avoided like the plague. Gabe had helped him realize that just because he was trained like Batman didn't mean that it automatically made him the person John had tried to forge him into; Sam could apply the skills he had to whatever he wanted. He'd subconsciously done it whenever he broke up fights at the Roadhouse, and he could do it consciously here and now.

_And maybe this is the way I can utilize them the best. By hiding in a cart and making sure Gabe doesn't get himself arrested by stubbornly chasing leads._

Sam snorted quietly to himself. All the chases he'd taken part in the past couple of weeks should've been ample warning for today's current events.

Gabe returned sooner than he expected, and his aura was so excited and adrenaline-filled that Sam could sense it from a considerable distance away even through the cart.

"The universe is just pouring blessings onto us today, Sammo," he whispered gleefully, flipping the lid open, "Everyone's gone! It's just the guys guarding the front entrance, and their backs are turned."

"Really? How much time do you think that leaves us?" Sam asked as he extricated himself from the cart. Gabe had to hold it steady again, but luckily none of his overly long limbs got stuck on the way out.

"Not much. Maybe twenty minutes tops. _Someone's_ bound to come back in…Sam?"

The aura hit Sam first as soon as he'd gotten both of his feet on the ground. It lingered in the air just beyond the balcony, rising up like plumes of faded smoke towards the vaulted ceiling above. The strength of it had diluted with time, but Sam could make out the remnants of monstrous tendrils curling through the air.

Then the smell of stale blood slammed him straight in the back of his throat, and Sam couldn't help but look over the balcony's edge.

A giant ritual circle had been formed in the foyer, starting at the entrance and encompassing the desk and much of the area behind it in an inhumanely even circle. The inside of the circle didn't contain a stereotypical star however; the shape looked something akin to a wonky pentagram that was intricately decorated with Enochian runes of all sorts. In the middle of the circle, which happened to be about five feet or so right of the main desk, was a chalk outline of a body with outstretched arms and splayed legs, each limb pointing to what looked like main conglomerates of symbols.

Sam's head swam just looking at it. The Enochian symbols weren't moving nearly as much as they had the other day when he'd sleepwalked, but they were giving him a very bad vibe that he didn't want to get near. Even the yellow crime scene markers looked hesitantly placed as if the CSI unit hadn't wanted to get too close either.

_No wonder Gabe hadn't come in that night. This reeks of evil._

Warmth seeped into his skin, seeming to soften the callouses on his fingers as Gabe took his hand.

"You don't have to do this," he said quietly.

Sam took a deep breath and squeezed Gabe's hand. He wished for a moment that Gabe wasn't wearing those contacts so he could see truly see his eyes, but he'd just have to settle for this.

"Winchesters don't back out. It's one of our top 10 rules," he said in a weak attempt at a joke, "Got the gloves?"

Gabe gazed at him for a long moment, aura swirling in a manner so complicated that it'd take Sam much longer then they had to try and figure out what was going on within it.

"Be careful," the P.I finally said, pulling out a pair of latex gloves from one of the janitor suit's pockets.

Sam stuck them in his own back pocket for later use. They'd get in the way while climbing and would only serve their purpose when he got down to the circulation desk. He didn't need to add his prints and contaminate the scene any more than he already would with his presence.

"Those cameras are still offline, right?" Sam asked, already eyeing the balcony and scanning the immediate area, mapping the layout in his head. There was an assortment of pillars, railings, and wall nooks he had to consider when he did this.

"I double-checked with Donna while you were in the cart. All of them are down for the count."

Sam made a distant noise of acknowledgment, his mind already racing as it spotted and discarded possible routes down. The library had high ceiling thresholds, which mean that despite the second-floor balcony just overlapping the circulation desk, it'd be quite the drop down, maybe ten feet or so.

Not that the drop was an issue for Sam with his long limbs and height. In fact, getting down would be the easy part. It was getting back _up_ that would prove tricky. He'd either have to find the clearest path through the blood to get to a pillar he could scale, or…

_I could jump to one of the benches and go from there. But that's a bigger gap than I'm used to._

Sam didn't voice the alternate option he was considering. Gabe was already growing nervous enough as it was by his side, and the P.I would try his best to shoot down the move.

"I'm ready. It shouldn't take more than five minutes," he said, toes and fingers flexing in anticipation, "That flash drive _better_ be there."

And with that, Sam swung a leg over the edge of the railing, his hands sliding down the rails on one smooth motion until they hit the base of the rails and he was dangling in midair.

"Jesus_ Christ_-Sam!" Gabe hissed, rushing to the edge of the balcony and looking over with wide eyes.

Sam looked up at him and grinned, giving him a cheeky wink. If he had really wanted to, he could've just jumped right over the railing landed below, but the resounding thud would've attracted unwanted attention. This way, his drop down would be a little quieter.

"Be right back," he said as he let go and landed lightly on the desk below, which couldn't have been more than three or four feet away thanks to his height.

The desk was cold beneath Sam's bare feet, but he didn't stick around for long on the top. As soon as he got the latex gloves on, he stepped off of the desk and hunched over, making sure that he wouldn't be visible.

Luckily, the inside of the desk had been spared the bloodbath treatment, so Sam was free to move around where he pleased. Using soft steps, he moved around until he spotted Hoffman's workstation based on the directions Gabe had relayed to him.

"Jackpot," he whispered as he slid the drawer open. The flash drive was taped to the underside just like he'd been told.

Sam peeled it away and slipped it into his pocket. The whole ordeal had taken less than a minute, but now he had to get back up.

Voices outside got his attention, and Sam cursed softly before peering over the edge of the desk. He could vaguely perceive Gabe's aura moving away from the edge of the balcony and down towards the right above him, but Sam's primary concern was the rising voices outside.

It seemed a few officers were getting into a heated conversation, but over what was a mystery. There were waving arms and swirling auras involved, but the distance and doors between them and Sam distorted the scene enough that he couldn't get any clear details.

_Shit. What if they decide to come in?_

Sam didn't feel overwhelming panic by the thought; he'd long slipped into the calm, but alert mindset he'd been trained to fall into in times like this. He was more concerned about Gabe, who was one floor above and a much more wired, tense individual than him. The P.I could think quickly on his feet, but they hadn't talked much about what they'd do if someone walked in. He didn't want Gabe to get caught and land himself in trouble over this.

The officers still had their backs turned, seeming to respect the yellow crime scene tape strung up across the entrance even as they argued. Sam studied their auras for a moment as best he could before making up his mind and looking upwards, hoping he could spot Gabe and somehow communicate what he was thinking.

He managed to spot him quickly thanks to his flashy aura. Gabe had moved towards the far-right side of the balcony, half tucking himself and the cart behind a section of wall that formed an effective blind spot to anyone down here looking up.

Their eyes met, and it was as if a link just as good as a phone call had been established between then. Sam only made a few vague hand gestures, but he _just_ knew Gabe got the message when the man nodded and slid back further, turning his cart so that he could make a quick getaway once Sam got up there.

_It's sort of like working with Dean, but not at the same time, _he thought as he looked at the officers one last time. He worked more seamlessly with Dean due to their upbringing and their close relationship, but working with Gabe was surprisingly intuitive, like they'd been doing this for years.

Sam made sure that the flash drive was safe in his pocket before moving, his body reacting almost before his brain had sent his muscles the impulses needed. His legs were on top of the desk and pushing himself upward in a flash, propelling him forward and up over the Enochian and towards a bench that was blood-free like the rest of its compatriots lined against the far wall.

He landed with a thud louder than he would've liked, but the bench he'd aimed for was right next to a large pillar, and Sam quickly slid up against it just in case the officers had heard. Overhead, he heard Gabe gasp, but the P.I shot him a thumbs up and motioned him upward, signaling the coast was still clear.

"How the _fuck_-Sam, do you know how far that was?" Gabe loud whispered as Sam peeled off the latex gloves.

"It wasn't that far," Sam whispered back, already planning out his route from his new location, "Now stand back, and keep an eye out."

He quickly leaped over to the next bench, which was roughly three feet away. Sam wasn't really keeping track, as for him, everything was just reduced to mere obstacles or aids in his path upward.

From the new bench, it was simple to just jump up the pillar and reach from there for one of the windows set up high in the wall. They were tall and skinny windows, sunken into the wall so they had a lip about half a foot wide to stand on. Sam's shoulders were too broad to completely fit in the window, but it didn't matter, as he didn't plan on sticking around for long.

Turning to face the balcony, which was now at eye level and a few feet away, Sam made the leap. It was an awkward one from the window, but the divide wasn't a large one, and both of his hands easily grasped the top of the railing.

His legs swung forward, carried by the force of his jump, but Sam let it. He hadn't lost much muscle tone in his arms, and they continued to support him as he swung his legs back, bringing his right one upward until his foot caught the edge of the railing.

With a grunt, Sam hauled himself over the edge, tucking himself in for a neat side roll he couldn't recall doing at any point once he'd left home that brought him to Gabe's feet.

"There. That wasn't so bad, was it-_oof_!"

Sam had let Gabe help him up and into the alcove for time's sake, but he hadn't expected the rib crushing hug the P.I was currently giving. His aura was fluttery and mimicked the hug by drawing in around them in glimmering shades that cut through the shadows around them.

"You scared me half to death with those stunts, you idiot!" Gabe said, his arms doing their very best to squeeze Sam's internal organs in an unescapable vice.

"They weren't even that bad," he wheezed, unsure of what to do except loop the arm that wasn't pinned to his side around the P.I's shoulders.

"To you maybe," Gabe grumbled from where his face was pressed into his chest before pulling away (Sam had to resist rubbing his ribs when he did), "Ready to get out of here?"

"Yeah. Let's make this cart ride quick," Sam replied with a grimace as he eyed the awaiting cart.

Escaping the library was easy, almost ludicrously so. In fact, the whole expenditure went far better than Sam could've hoped. He'd been expecting some sort of potential disaster, from Gabe either running into someone he couldn't fast-talk his way past, to someone suspecting something was amiss with the cart and decided to take a peek in. Hell, he'd even expected one of the officers to glance back into the library and spot him when he'd been getting back up to the balcony, but everything went well.

They'd got away scot-free. Sam couldn't stop grinning, even as the cart bumped over the sidewalk, because they'd _done it_. Out of all the crazy things they'd done, this had been one of the riskiest, and it had all worked out.

Gabe's excitement grew as they got further and further from the library; Sam could sense it as the colors bled more and more through the cart. It was a testament to how powerful his aura was, and by the time they arrived back in the bathroom, Gabe was a jittery, happy mess of adrenaline.

"We did it Sam!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms around him the moment he'd opened the lid and gotten half of his body out.

Sam yelped as the cart nearly tipped over, but he managed to regain his balance by contorting his torso and clinging to the exuberant P.I with all he had.

"I think it'd be a better idea to let me get out of the cart first," he said, trying to focus less on the exhilarating warmth washing over him and more on the fact that he was very close to falling to the bathroom floor and taking the cart with him.

Gabe had the decency to look abashed, and after some careful maneuvering (and a lot of clinging on Sam's part, but he'd deny that later, as he _didn't_ need help getting out), Sam was finally free of the torturous thing.

"Ok, _now_ we can do the celebratory hug," he said, sweeping Gabe into a giant bear hug that lifted him clear off the floor.

This time it was Gabe's turn to yelp, and Sam laughed as he swung him around in a full circle before setting him down.

"I present to you the spoils of our raid," he announced, producing the flash drive with a flourish.

"Mission accomplished," Gabe said with his trademark gleam in his eyes that not even the contacts could change, "Let's get out of here, shall we?"

They got themselves ready to go back out, with Sam redressing and Gabe stripping off the elements of his disguise. His hair stayed dark and would until he washed it out, but the mustache and contacts were quick to go.

"It's actually kind of itchy," he confessed as he peeled it off.

"I bet, but at least you don't smell gross," Sam said, sniffing his shirt experimentally before cringing away. His prolonged stay in the cart had resulted in its obnoxious smell sticking to him.

They returned the cart and uniform to its proper home before skedaddling, sticking close together and bracing themselves against the blustery wind that had started up while they were inside. Gabe practically clung to his elbow, teeth chattering and nose reddening with every step they took.

"Lawrence weather can go fuck itself," he muttered, and Sam snorted before gently loosening his arm from Gabe's grip.

His aura quickly turned disappointed but cheered up immediately when Sam threw it over his shoulder and tugged him closer so he'd be warmer by his side.

"You're the best," Gabe declared, sneaking an arm around his waist.

"I know I am," Sam said confidently. He was still riding the high of their success, so he let himself be bold and continue speaking what he'd secretly thought in his head, "We make a pretty good team."

"We do, don't we?" Gabe said with a smile that had no business looking as soft and satisfied as it did.

With their arms wrapped around each other, the duo trekked through the nearly quite campus. They passed few people on their meandering stroll, and Sam wondered if, from the outside, they looked like a couple.

"Hey, Sam?"

Sam pulled himself from his wandering thoughts and looked down at Gabe, who was looking at something across the street. He followed his gaze and found that what had attracted the man's attention was, of all things, a church. It was a small, old Catholic church that he could recall passing many times on his way to campus, complete with stained glass windows and wooden doors.

"You want to go in?" he asked, confused. He'd never taken Gabe for the religious type, and it was an oddball thing for even him to do (especially after they'd technically broken into a crime scene).

Gabe half shrugged; eyes distant as he gazed at the church. His aura swirled with something related to nostalgia, but not quite. It was too sad for typical nostalgia.

"It reminds me of the church I was left in," he said, arm tightening around his waist, "And I think I had a dream…"

He shook his head, cutting himself off before pulling away from him.

"Have you ever had a dream that you thought was important, but you can't remember it in the morning?"

_If only you knew, _Sam thought, thinking of the visions that he wished he didn't remember when he woke.

"I think I know what you mean," he said instead, "Dreams are funny like that. If you think going in would help, then we'll go."

Gabe paused for a moment, wavering on the curb before squaring his shoulders and setting off. Sam remained a few paces behind, both respectful of the P.I's need to lead and because he was a little wary himself.

Sam had never been devoted to any sort of religion, but he liked the core concept of a church. In essence, it was a safe place, and while he hadn't been in many, the atmosphere inside was always the same. A congregation left behind a distinct blend of auras that accumulated into the faith-filled air Sam believed people sensed when they walked into churches.

This church was no different. It was smaller on the inside than he'd expected, with dark wooden rafters and worn pews, but the candles up front and to the right were lit. An old woman sat on the left side, either asleep or bent over in prayer; Sam couldn't tell. Her aura was barely distinguishable from the general misty, pearlescent atmosphere of the church, leading him to believe that she was a long-time patron.

Gabe walked down the aisle quietly, his steps gaining more and more confidence as he approached the table of candles. The light that made it through the windows reflected the gloom outside but illuminated him in a thin wash of white nonetheless with every window he passed.

Sam followed more tentatively. Churches, however safe they felt on the aural level, also made him remember that he wasn't exactly the best person in the world. He had come with Gabe because he sensed that one some level, Gabe wanted him there, but if given the choice, he probably would've opted to wait outside.

Up close, the candles revealed that not all of the wicks held a flame. Gabe's eyes danced over the candles as he picked up a wick, blazing molten gold in the dim interior.

"Mind lighting a candle with a friend?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder to look back at him. His aura had softened at the edges, melting into the misty atmosphere of the church.

"You want me to?" Sam asked, toeing the floor softly with a boot. He didn't think Gabe had wanted him to do so, and besides, he'd never lit a candle in a church before.

Gabe nodded, extending a wick out to him. Sam took it, feeling as if he was cradling a splinter between his fingers, before stepping up to the table.

They both lit a candle within seconds of each other, stealing a bit of flame from one to pass to the other. Gabe exhaled as he did so, the deep, tense colors in his aura easing as he lit the candle.

In contrast, Sam's heart squeezed at the sight of Gabe's now serene face. He'd seen him relaxed, happy, and lax with sleep, but never like _that_. It made him want to put that look on his face more often, but as he dropped his wick into a tucked away wastebasket beneath the table, Sam didn't think he could make it happen when he didn't know what it felt like himself.

"I'm not religious, and I still don't really get why I came in here, but that made me feel better," he admitted as they left the table behind. This time, they were walking side by side, as much as the narrow aisle would let them.

"Dreams are weird like that," Sam remarked, thinking of the snatches of future and past he saw nowadays that he tried to understand, "As long as it made you feel better, then does the why really matter?"

Cold air greeted them as they stepped out, just as cold as when they'd entered. Gabe took his head and tilted his head contemplatively.

"No, I suppose not," he said, leading them down the steps, "Let's get back."

They were about a block from the parking garage when it happened. Gabe had been talking and not paying attention to where he was going, even though he'd taken the lead, and so caught his foot on something.

He tripped over something so hard and fast that Sam couldn't keep him from going down. The world spun dizzyingly for a second before Sam got himself reoriented, landing half on the sidewalk Gabe had been trying to step onto and half on the road. Gabe landed on top of him, and Sam winced as his elbow jabbed his stomach.

"Ouch," he groaned, rolling so Gabe flopped onto the sidewalk by him, "What the hell Gabe?"

"Sorry," Gabe said sheepishly, "But it's not my fault I keep tripping these days! This time it was a manhole cover of all things!"

He pointed accusatorily at the guilty manhole cover; distaste clear in his voice and aura.

Sam stared at the manhole cover. It was just an average cover, identical to the many others that littered the city, but something about it _bothered_ him. Something he should know was sitting on the tip of his tongue, the very same thing that had been eluding him one way or another for the past week or so.

_A trapdoor, deep in a series of tunnels. The stench of garbage, oppressive and rank in the dank darkness._

_The smell of sewage._

"-Sammy. Sam? Sammo, did you hit your head on the way down or something?"

Sam was glad he was already on the ground because the epiphany that finally clicked into place made him light-headed in a way that would've been dangerous if he'd been standing.

"I'm so _stupid_. It's been staring me in the face the whole time," he said, eyes still fixed on the manhole cover.

"What?"

"We've got to get back to my place, and I've got to call Dean on the way," he said, urgency driving him to haul Gabe up and tug him down the street.

"Why?"

Sam met Gabe's confused gaze with his own grim one.

"I know how Death's getting around the city."

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Hello lovelies! All I've got is time on my hands, so here's another chapter with a lil bit of everything in it. Humor, seriousness, and best of all, a smattering of sexual tension that'll only go up from here. I'll also take the time to remind you that this story is rated M, both for the upcoming violence and pairings. The next chapter will have Dean and Cas, and should be up by next week at the lastest.


	12. Sign of the Times

**Chapter 12: Sign of the Times**

Gabe's driving always left a lot to be desired, but today he drove like an absolute _manic_ through the streets of Lawrence, leaving mayhem and angry drivers in his formidable wake. For once, Sam didn't make any teasing comments about the quality of his driving, as he was too busy ringing up Dean and trying to ascertain where exactly his idiot brother was.

"Why can't you just tell me where you are?" he asked exasperatedly, casually bracing an arm against Gabe's seat and keeping anything loose from the back flying forward as they braked hard at a red light.

Dean's voice was flustered and just as exasperated as he shot back, "I just _can't_. I'll be at your place as soon as I can, but it might take a while."

A horn honked somewhere behind them, and Gabe hollered, "Yeah, yeah, you'll live asshole!" before honking his own back at them. His wild aura perfectly reflected his chaotic driving.

"Don't tell me you hooked up with someone," Sam frowned, already ready to give Dean a tongue lashing. Every so often his brother would drive outside of Lawrence and have a wild weekend (or Wednesday; sometimes Dean had bad weeks and poor sense of time), but he hadn't done for a few months. He certainly hadn't done it ever since he'd met Cas, and Sam had to admit, he'd be very disappointed in his brother had gone on a destructive binger. His hopes that the two would get together were remarkably high at this point.

"No- I'm out of town, but I _didn't_ hook up with anyone. It's just kind of awkward timing Sammy…"

"Put him on speaker so I can interrogate him. This is taking too long!" Gabe snapped as the light changed to green and he stomped on the gas.

"Driving needs all of your focus," Sam admonished, but he did as asked. Maybe if his brother butted heads with Gabe, it'd get him to loosen up and just tell them where he was.

There was a string of muddled words on the other side, and Sam's eyebrows flew upward as Cas' rumbling voice picked up where his brother's had left off.

"Hello, Sam. I apologize for your brother's difficulty in being straightforward."

"Uh, that's alright man," he said for lack of anything else to say. Had Dean and Cas…?

_If they did, I'm going to have to eat my socks, because that's the absolute _last_ thing I expected them to do at this stage._

Gabe crowed as he came to the same conclusion, slapping the steering wheel with a wide, shit-eating grin.

"Did you and the Ken doll get it on, Cassie? I didn't know you had it in you! Hell, you should've just said so, Dean-o!"

Sam smothered a laugh as his brother sputtered indignantly in the background. Cas remained much more composed, but he could tell by the slight waver in his voice that the assumption embarrassed him.

"We did not "hook up"," he said, the air quotes practically audible over the phone before took up the sass a notch, "Thought it's good to know I appear to have both of your blessings for such a thing."

"You bet you do! Samsquatch, tell him that he has your blessing."

"I don't think that's how blessings are supposed to be given out," Sam said evasively as his brother whined at Cas to give him his phone back and that they "_didn't need no damn blessings!_".

"We're about half an hour out, so give us some time, but we'll be there," the Enochian expert said, competently ignoring Dean, "Dean, your childish treats to lick me do _not_ intimidate me."

"So, when do you think they'll finally pull their heads out of their asses and get together?" Gabe asked after they'd hung up.

Sam rubbed his thumb over his phone screen pensively. There was only one place he could think of that Dean could've taken Cas that was roughly half an hour out if they really _hadn't_ hooked up, but Sam didn't think his brother had taken anyone out there since Lisa had been pregnant with Ben.

"Sam?"

"What? Oh, nothing. It's just…I didn't think Dean would take him out there," Sam said vaguely, still wrapped up in his thoughts.

"Out where?"

Gabe swerved around a car going too slow for his liking, the Beetle's tires screeching as they slipped into the neighboring lane.

"Our mother's grave," Sam said bluntly. Gabe knew just about everything about his family history now, so there was no point in holding back. "She wasn't from Lawrence. She came from a smaller town about a half hour's drive here, and her family, the Campbells, had lived in that town long enough that they had a plot in the local cemetery. So, she-well, her _coffin_ at least-was buried there."

Sam had only been out there a handful of times himself. His much lesser degree of attachment to the memory of his mother led to him not seeing the point of visiting a gravestone often, much less a grave that he knew didn't hold his mother's body. The town was a bleak place, on the verge of collapse due to many of the jobs being absorbed by Lawrence, and Sam didn't like associating the place with the bright person his mother had been in life.

The last time he'd gone up was the night John had kicked him out. He'd basically broken into the cemetery to visit his mother's grave, pouring out all of his bitter anger at what he'd perceived to be an unjust situation. Sam was ashamed to say he'd even kicked the gravestone, but he'd cut that out immediately once he'd realized what he'd done. He'd stayed there until dawn, speaking to a ghost he couldn't even remember for himself tearfully towards the end.

_I'm only as real as you let me be._

"Do you have any idea why he would do that?"

Gabe's voice was soft and careful, all of the humor gone from his voice as he sensed the melancholy of the situation.

"I'm not really sure," he replied truthfully. Sam knew his brother well, better than anyone else in the world, but this was something straight out of left field, "He brought Lisa up once. I think for him, visiting is another sign of trust. I don't know why he'd bring Cas up now of all times though."

"What does it mean for you?"

"Visiting?"

Gabe nodded, his aura settled comfortably around his shoulders like a cloak of flames. The more pastel shades had suffused the interior of the car, taking over the restless, crackling orange energy the P.I had given off a few minutes ago from his crazy driving.

"Nothing as serious as it is to Dean," Sam said with a shrug, "I've never brought anyone of my own up there. Not even Jess. I guess for me it's just a placeholder until we find my mom's body."

After 20 years, finding Mary's body sounded impossible, and anyone else would've told Sam to just let the hopeless idea go. Gabe, of course, took it one step further as they entered East Center.

"I'll help you with that. Once we're done with all this serial killer business, we can look for your mom."

Sam's heart lurched in his chest. It reminded him of what Gabe had said to him about finding Yellow Eyes when he'd been pretending to be asleep, but he didn't know that he'd heard him say that.

"If anyone could find her, it'd be you," Sam responded confidently.

Gabe blushed before hurriedly returning his gaze to the road, and that was the end of the subject. Sam didn't feel like delving into it further when his mind was still occupied on the epiphany he'd had, and Gabe was visibly growing more and more antsy to hear what exactly had gotten him so riled him.

"When are you going to tell me what your brain came up with, Sam?" he asked, bouncing on his heels as he waited for Sam to get out of the car. It was always a mini ordeal to get out, especially when he got one of his oversized feet caught beneath the dash.

"When we get inside," Sam replied patiently, grunting as he finally worked his legs out of the car.

Gabe pouted but held his tongue for the moment at least.

The afternoon was beginning to wan, bringing with it a chill that he knew would give his apartment's heater a hard time. Sam hurried them inside and into the elevator so Gabe wouldn't complain too much about the weather anymore.

"You're starting to smell," Gabe announced as the doors opened onto his floor.

"Oh, so _now_ you notice it?"

"I was being polite beforehand!"

"When are you ever polite?"

"Hey! I'll have you know that I'm perfectly capable of using my manners when necessary."

Sam unlocked his front door and let Gabe step in first with a wide sweep of his arm and a smirk.

"Manners like this?"

Gabe stuck his nose up haughtily as he walked past, but Sam could see the smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"That'd be more impressive if you didn't smell like a poorly cleaned garbage bin."

"And here I thought my chivalry would distract you from my reek," Sam sighed dramatically.

"What is this, the Middle Ages?"

Kevin wasn't in and didn't seem to have been at all that day. The apartment was cool and felt stale to Sam, with the typical atmosphere the place had built up ever since they'd starting renting it too still and thin in the air.

"Might as well be," Sam grumbled as he aggressively fiddled with the thermometer, "You'd think we didn't have a heating system in here."

Sam let Gabe settle down in the living room, telling him to help himself to the kitchen before making a beeline for the shower.

He showered quickly, not because he was worried about what Gabe could get up to on his own, but because he was eager to make some strong headway on the case. Between his theory that he was positive held merit to the flash drive currently burning a hole in Gabe's pocket, Sam was sure that Death's days were numbered.

_Hell, we could even catch him by the end of the week._

It was a ridiculously optimistic idea, but Sam let himself think it regardless. He was feeling too cheery to shoot down his own mood with pessimism.

"Sam, hurry _up_!"

He rolled his eyes as Gabe's whine drifted through the bathroom door. Honestly, the P.I's capacity for patience seemed to either be unfathomably deep or irritatingly short, with nothing whatsoever in between.

"Sam! I'm dying of curiosity out here!"

A mischievous idea entered Sam's head, making him flush just from the _mere_ thought of it. He'd need balls of steel to pull it off, but he'd done crazier with Gabe.

"Did you hear me? I'm _dying_!"

He wrapped the towel around his waist and raked a hand through his wet hair, barely sparing his reflection a second glance before he pulled the bathroom door open. If Gabe wanted to know so bad, then he'd just have to tell him right now, wouldn't he?

And if it maybe gave Gabe another hint that Sam was interested, then that was just icing on the cake. He'd resolved himself to wait, but there was nothing wrong with toying around while he held out.

_I'm so evil for this, _Sam thought as he padded down the hall, one hand keeping his admittedly low riding towel up, _Hopefully, I don't kill him._

"Alright, _alright_, I'm coming," he said, infusing enough exasperation into his voice and pretending that him walking out half-naked and wet was completely normal for him to do.

Gabe's reaction was priceless. His jaw dropped, and Sam struggled to keep himself from smirking in triumph as the P.I gaped wordlessly. Cherry red exploded through his aura, spreading like ink through water until his aura was swamped by it.

"You wanted to know so bad what my theory was, right?" he asked after a few seconds in which Gabe seemed to struggle to put together a coherent thought.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, your theory," he said faintly, eyes glued to his abs, "What was that all about again?"

Sam casually ran a hand through his hair, flexing more muscles than necessary as he took a few steps closer Gabe's eyes followed him hungrily, gold eyes darkening by the second.

"I actually have you to thank for giving me the idea," he said, smiling sweetly. He'd been told it was one of his best smiles, and Gabe seemed to think it was too judging by his bright flush. "See, when you tripped over the manhole cover, you gave the last puzzle piece my mind needed. This guy's getting around by using the _sewage system_."

It took Gabe a long moment to process, but Sam didn't blame him. The P.I was extremely distracted, so he gave the man's brain time to switch over to thinking work-related thoughts.

"Wait…that's actually a good theory," Gabe said once he got back on track, leaning forward eagerly, "It would explain how he gets away so quickly! And why we don't see him on the cameras that _do_ work when we should. But wouldn't that make transporting the bodies harder?"

"Not necessarily," Sam said, heading over to the only bookcase the living room contained. Both he and Kevin had vastly underestimated the number of books they owned and had never gotten around to getting another bookcase, so they just had a single tiny one they'd stuffed full and left to crouch against the wall, "Not many people know that the underground systems in Lawrence are intricate and interconnected. Let's see…"

He bent over to look for the map he _knew_ he'd put here, drawing a half-choked sound from Gabe.

"Here we go! This is the map that you'd see hanging in the subway stations if you somehow stick around long enough to pay attention to the walls," Sam explained, straightening with an innocent expression on his face, "Picked it up when I took Ben on the subway for the first time so he could color on it, so excuse the crayon."

He spread the map out on the coffee table as best he could with all the stuff in the way, exposing a standard map littered with the abstract scribbles only a child could make.

"We have a couple of shut down subway stations and abandoned lines, mostly past the Kingsford Parallel. But my main point is that there are all sorts of underground systems in Lawrence," he explained, pushing his damp hair out of his eyes and gesturing to a spot on the map, "Like here, where East Center starts petering off into North Heights? There's a lot of intersecting lines, and they're super close to the sewage systems. In the older sections of Lawrence, the underground network is incredibly dense, and there's a rumor that some of the older buildings are connected to these sorts of systems by forgotten tunnels."

"How come I've never heard of this?" Gabe asked, eyes moving over the map. He was back in business mode, his natural curiosity too peaked to be distracted now.

"It's not well-known information. The only reason I know what I know of it is my training," Sam admitted, "Only older people and probably the homeless know that Lawrence has so many extensive underground systems."

Gabe made a thoughtful noise before tapping an area of the map where a lot of the color-coded subway lines converged between North Heights and East Center.

"LU is fairly old, isn't it?"

"Some of it is," Sam confirmed, "Some other old places I can think are in downtown, like city hall and the police headquarters…"

He trailed off as an image of the LPD's basement popped into his head. It was an extensive place that seemed to sprawl on for miles beneath the building, but Sam was more focused on something he remembered John saying years ago about it.

_Theoretically, one could breach the building from the basement if you found the right route. The problem is that no one knows what the right route is, and it takes all you got just to make sure you don't get lost. It's a death maze down there._

They turned to look at each other in tandem, and Sam knew that they were thinking along the same lines.

"The LPD has that giant basement level," he pointed out, and Sam nodded, chewing his lip.

"No one's even formally addressed the existence of all these tunnels, much less found the right route to breach a building from underground. Not even we did."

"_We_?"

Sam blushed slightly beneath Gabe's penetrating gaze. He hadn't meant to let that bit slip.

"Uh, about four or five years ago we may or may not have explored the underground a bit to find a way into old buildings like the LPD, but not necessarily the LPD!" Sam tagged on hurriedly, "We could never make sense of it, and Dean hated trying to make sense of the network down there, so we let the idea go pretty quick."

"That's…_insane_," Gabe said after struggling to find the right word for it.

"I know. It is what it is," he said, rapping his fingers against the map before straightening, "I've got to get dressed. Help yourself to whatever you need."

Gabe hummed in acknowledgment, but it wasn't until Sam started down the hall that he heard him mutter, "Christ…a _towel_?"

_Good to know I've got such an effect on him, _Sam thought, thoroughly pleased with how his idea had panned out. It was one thing to inadvertently do things that attracted Gabe to him, but quite another to purposely get a rise out of him.

Drying off and dressing took no time at all, and soon Sam was back with Gabe in the living room. They discussed the case over a very late lunch (or early dinner, Sam!) and worked out the finer details of the new ideas they had to what the P.I described as 'an ever-growing cluster-fuck'.

"Hands down, this is the most convoluted case I've worked on, and I've worked on some fucked up cases," Gabe said as they tore into the sandwiches he'd made, "Before this, I'd say the craziest case I assisted on was the serial killer they had in Seattle about two years ago."

Sam finished up the last of his crust before dusting crumbs off of his fingers. Gabe's sandwiches were divine, just like the rest of the cooking he'd been lucky enough to sample.

"The dude that shot people in their homes? I think I heard something about that," he remarked, gazing sadly down at his plate. He was now officially all out of sandwiches.

His plate slid a few inches over, and he looked up to see Gabe smile and shoot him a wink before setting the last half of his sandwich onto his plate.

"Yup, that's the guy. They called him The Sharpshooter because his shots were always so precise," he said, "Combine that with his overall meticulousness and his frequent kills, and he was a dangerous guy. I helped them close the case, but tracking the guy was an absolute nightmare. The profile they'd made for him was also completely off, which made it even harder. But that case seems downright easy compared to this one."

"Was that the only other serial killer case you worked?"

Gabe nodded, taking a long sip of pineapple juice. It had easily been one of the most random items in the fridge, and Sam wasn't surprised that he'd gone for it.

"I've worked plenty of homicide cases, but yeah, this is my second serial killer case. I actually sort of count this as my first proper one, since I've been on it in some form or fashion ever since the start."

His eyes drifted to the flash drive, which sat a few feet from Sam's laptop further down the counter. By unspoken agreement, they'd put it off so they could eat first, but Sam had polished off what Gabe had given to him, and there were no more excuses now.

"I guess it's time to boot this bad boy up," he sighed, stretching one long arm up to grab his laptop and the flash drive.

Gabe crowded close to him as he plugged the flash drive in, which Sam was glad for. While he logically knew what would be on it, he still felt uncomfortable opening it up on his computer. How many unfortunate students' names were listed on this petty 'master list'?

"Jesus, it's organized by _year_," Gabe mumbled, and Sam winced at the neat row of folders dating back nearly ten years.

"How much money do you want to bet that this is going to take us a while?" he asked, clicking on the folder for the current academic year and gesturing to the size of the two documents labeled "Fall" and "Spring" inside. The "Spring" document was _massive_ considering they were still in the early stages of spring semester.

"Dammit," Gabe cursed, running a hand over his face, "We need to find something else on this guy to narrow this down. Open it up to see how they listed the students."

Sam did as he asked. The document was so large that his poor computer began to lag, but it managed to get the job done.

"It's pretty detailed. First and last name, dates, even some timestamps of when the student committed the 'infarction'," he said sarcastically.

"Just like Hoffman said," Gabe muttered before leaning back, "Alright. Our guy's name is guaranteed to be in here somewhere. We just need more dirt on our guy before we can locate him on the list."

He made a disgusted sound, and Sam turned to see that Gabe had run his hand through his hair, forgetting that he still had the temporary hair dye in. It was smeared all over his palm, and he looked so done that Sam couldn't help but laugh.

"Go wash that gunk out of your hair. You've got some time before Dean and Cas show up."

"I guess," Gabe grumbled, grimacing at his fingers before standing, "But tell me, did I look good with dark hair while it lasted?"

He struck a pose that was only partially ruined by the smudge of hair dye along his temple from where he must've dragged his hand downward. Sam snorted at his pomp and flair before propping his arm on the counter and resting his head in his hand.

"I dig it," he said honestly, a genuine smile probably making him look like a complete dork, "It brings out your eyes."

Sam was rewarded for his boldness by the cutest blush he'd ever seen appear on Gabe's face and a supernova explosion of embarrassed satisfaction within his aura.

"Well of course it does," Gabe blustered, even as his cheeks grew pinker, "That's why I used it!"

"Mhmm," he hummed, letting the P.I beat a hasty retreat without voicing the fact that they both knew that wasn't the reason he'd used it.

While Gabe was in the bathroom, he tackled some homework and pulled up various maps of Lawrence, ignoring the flash drive still attached to his computer. He felt no need to go through the numerous lists, not when his theory could prove far more fruitful in the short-term.

The special knock Dean always made when he came over (one slow knock, then two fast) pulled Sam away from his work.

"Tell them I'm not decent yet!" Gabe hollered from the bathroom.

"I'm sure they'll survive without your glorious presence for five minutes," Sam retorted as he moved to open the door.

Dean and Cas were outside just like he'd expected, windblown and standing closer together than platonic adult friends typically did. Sam smiled at their intermingled auras and let them in, gesturing with a lazy hand towards the living room.

"Gabe's acting like a diva, so I'll fill you guys in while he gets ready."

"I heard that!"

"You were supposed to!" Sam yelled back before shutting the door, ignoring Dean and Cas' shared expressions of confusion.

"You two have a very dynamic relationship," Cas remarked as he sat on the couch. His brother had entered the kitchen to help himself to the fridge, as he was wont to do, "I have to admit, I would have never anticipated that you two could be so compatible."

"Don't put it like that Cas," Dean said between slurps from a Coke, "My baby brother doesn't need to get caught up in any relationship crap right now."

Sam immediately responded with an aghast, "_Dean_!" that his brother completely ignored, the bastard.

"Well, I'm not wrong, am I?" he asked, eyebrow arched as his brotherly aura kicked into gear.

Cas looked between the two of them as Sam groaned, covering his flaming face with his hands. He did _not_ want to broach this topic with Dean while other people around, much less when Gabe was just a hallway down!

"Can we not talk about this right now?" he snapped, already feeling tense at the mere thought of a conversation with Dean regarding _relationships_.

_I'd rather break into another crime scene than talk about Gabe with Dean._

"Of course," Cas interjected, quick to smooth his ruffled feathers as he shot a reproachful gaze at Dean, who threw his hands up in a surrender gesture, "I did not mean to intrude with my statement and I'm _sure_ Dean didn't think of how careless his words would be. I was merely referring to your work relationship with Gabriel."

_Speak of the devil, _Sam thought as the P.I strolled into the living room, a towel around his shoulders to keep his hair from dripping everywhere. At least he was fully dressed.

"I thought I heard someone say Gabriel, and of course it'd be you, Cassie. You're probably the only person that does at this point," Gabe remarked, standing in the entrance of the hall and letting his eyes skim about the room.

"It's your given name, is it not?" Cas pointed out, and Dean decided to butt in with his typical mule-headed, one-track mind.

"You better not try anything funny with Sammy," he said, gesturing at Gabe with his Coke can and pinning him with an intimidating green glare that had cowed many a man in the past. "No one's gonna toy around with his heart on _my_ watch, capisce?"

"Oh _my God_, I can't believe you just said that," Sam groaned, falling back into the couch as embarrassment swamped him. Honestly, couldn't Dean put a sock in the overprotective brother routine for _once_ in his life?

Luckily, Gabe took it all in stride, which was impressive considering he'd essentially come out of the bathroom only to be subjected to brotherly threats that had come out of nowhere.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he said seriously, crossing his finger over his heart. Interestingly enough, his aura revealed that the statement was a half-truth, leaving him to wonder how the P.I had decided to interpret the phrase 'try anything funny', "Besides, Sam could kick my ass with one hand tied behind his back if I did. Have you _seen_ him?"

They all looked at him, and Sam tried his best to look as physically intimidating as possible from his position on the couch.

"He has a point, Dean," Cas admitted, eyes drifting between him and Gabe to take in the notable physical disparity between them, "I think your brother is more than capable of handling himself."

Dean grunted, only partially satisfied judging by the swirling green around him. However, the universe must've decided that he'd been embarrassed enough for the time being because his brother dropped the subject and went back to aggressively drinking soda.

"What crawled up his ass and died?" Gabe muttered as he sat down next to Sam.

"Be nice," Sam muttered back as his brother crushed the can and went for a second in the fridge.

"Well, now that we've gotten that settled…" Cas said, breaking the awkward silence, "Could you please tell us what was so urgent?"

Sam eagerly seized the lifeline he'd been thrown and launched into explaining his sewer theory to them, as well as the flash drive they'd recovered. By the time he'd finished, he was on his feet and pacing from sheer enthusiasm.

"It's feasible," Dean mused once he'd wrapped up updating them on the case, "The underground might as well be its own city with how big it is. It's not a stretch to think that one of them could lead up to the inside of a building."

"I can't believe Hannah was right about that," Cas said, clearly disturbed by the idea of the flash drive. "I thought it was just a rumor spread around to scare the freshman. Do you really think the killer is somewhere on the list?"

"It makes sense, and until we learn something that disproves the theory, it's all we got. What about you guys? Have you been back to your apartment yet?" Gabe asked.

"Just once, and technically Dean was the only one to go back. He made me sit in the Impala," the Enochian expert grumbled, "Apparently the Dead Eyes are still around."

"They're getting cocky," Dean added from his perch at the breakfast bar. "They're wearing their symbol in broad daylight, and outside of their territory. Some guys I know from-_work_ have been complaining about it. It's a pretty hare-brained move when everyone's just about positive The Crucifier doesn't think highly of them."

He punctuated the end of his sentence with the crack and fizz of a new can of soda, his green aura wild and resplendent against the backdrop of his small kitchen.

"The Dead Eyes are unpredictable. Who knows what's running through their heads right now?" Sam pointed out, nose wrinkling in disgust at the gang. After they'd burned the Roadhouse down, they'd made it clear they were the loose cannons of the gang hierarchy in Lawrence.

"Probably drugs," his brother quipped, "Word is they're knee-deep in a new drug that's got people acting batshit crazy. Half of the gangs want a cut of what they got, and half of them want to keep clear of it."

"Demon blood? Yeah, that stuff sounds bad," Gabe shuddered.

"Wait, how do _you_ know about it?" Dean asked, suspicion lacing his tone. "I had to call in three favors just to get that name!"

"A little birdie told us," Sam said hurriedly, shooting his brother a 'please-don't-tear-his-head-off' look, "But that does remind me of something. Remember Gordon?"

Dean's face blanked for a second before his aura flared with recognition with a finger snap.

"Roadhouse Gordon? The one that always kept hitting on the waitresses, right? What about him?"

"I'm pretty sure he's on demon blood," Sam said, standing up from the recliner and beginning to pace, "Right before the Roadhouse burned down, I had to throw him out again, but he was acting totally different that night. He was completely out of it, and inadvertently started a whole brawl."

"Oh yeah," Gabe said, a spark of remembrance brightening his eyes, "That was the night that you threw a guy into a table!"

"You threw someone into a table?" Cas asked, astounded, and Gabe puffed up proudly.

"He _broke_ the table! Through the guy like he weighed nothing!"

"That's not the point," Sam cut in, trying to keep them from marveling over his furniture-breaking acts of strength, "The _point_ is that Gordon could be our lead into this aspect."

"Wait, slow down Sammy, I've got to process this," Dean interjected, "It's been a long day."

"It's alright, we all know your brain cells need a break every now and then," Gabe said snidely.

"At least I don't use mine to fangirl over Sam's ability to throw people around like ragdolls."

"Uh, rude!" Gabe gasped. "I'll have you know I also use my brain cells to process to admire his other countless abilities."

"It's like trying to reign in kindergartners," Cas remarked, getting up from the couch and moving to sit in the recliner as they began to squabble over who put their brain cells to better use ("Ogling my brother isn't _productive_!").

"Tell me about it," Sam muttered before deciding to tune them out. "How have you been Cas? I hope it wasn't too cold in the cemetery."

If there was one thing Sam had learned about Cas, it was that catching the man off guard was a Herculean task, but he somehow managed to pull it off. A shocked look spread across Cas' face before he began to fumble for words, blue aura peaking with sudden nervousness.

"How…did Dean…? But when-"

"Relax, I'm not out for blood," Sam reassured, "Just surprised. Dean doesn't take very many people up there."

"He said as much," the Enochian expert murmured, blue eyes fixed on his leather shoes, "It was a …unexpected venture, but not unwelcome. I think he wanted to tell me more about her up there instead of here in Lawrence."

"What'd he tell you?"

"He told me about how they never found her body," he said, voice soft so they wouldn't attract the other's attention, "I'm not from here, so I didn't know anything about Yellow Eyes' methodology until I met you two."

"They never found any of his victims," Sam said grimly.

Cas nodded, beginning to look uncomfortable. Sam didn't blame him; talking about serial killers became much more bizarre when you knew someone who was directly affected by one.

"I just wanted to say that I hope she is found. It seems unfair to have only an empty grave to visit."

Sam blinked. He had to admit, he hadn't really expected such sincere words from Cas. The man came off as far too stoic to tread into awkward emotional conversation like this, but it was clear he'd meant every word.

"Thanks, Cas," he said, leaning down to clap a hand on his shoulder.

The flare of auras caught his attention, and he half-turned to see Gabe and Dean gesticulating wildly at each other, both leaning forward from where they were seated to rant and rave. They were really going at it, and he knew that if he let them go on for five more minutes about what was now an argument about soda (those two would really fight over anything, would they?), he'd have to physically break them apart.

"Alright, that's enough you two," he said firmly, rolling his eyes at Cas before moving to stand in between them, "Dean, don't take out your anger about my lack of alcohol on Gabe. You knew I wasn't going to have alcohol here."

Dean scowled but said nothing. They both knew he was right; it was the only reason he'd gone for the Coke in the first place. Sam knew his brother only drank soda when he wanted a beer but couldn't have one.

"And Gabe quit baiting him. Riling him up isn't a good idea if you want to keep your pr-_face_\- intact," he continued, stopping himself from saying "pretty". He was trying to calm everyone down for Christ's sake, not rile them right back up with his careless words.

Gabe huffed and crossed his arms, but also said nothing. Both of their auras reflected a similar embarrassment at being chastised, and the gradual decrease in the aggression they'd worked up.

"Glad we got that settled," Sam said with a sigh, placing his hands on his hips, "Now can we go back to actually discussing important things like, oh I don't know, the serial killer that's on the loose and the fact that we're some of the only competent people actually getting somewhere _close_ to catching him?"

"I don't know if I'd say _everyone_ in this room is competent-"

"_Gabe_," Sam hissed, a spark of irritation making his tone sharp as he addressed him.

The P.I. flinched, now looking thoroughly cowed as he realized he'd annoyed Sam one too many times.

"Sorry," he muttered, shifting guiltily on the couch.

Dean snickered, and Sam turned to fix his own glare on him, pulling the most intense bitch face he'd used on his brother in a while. He was _not_ helping at all.

That stopped his laughter so quickly that he thought he'd given Dean psychological whiplash. As such, Cas got up behind him and cleared his throat, drawing Sam's attention (and growing ire) away from the two immature acting men in front of him.

"I'll make some coffee. I think everyone could use some right now."

He beat a hasty retreat to the partial shelter the kitchen provided, blue aura a bit frazzled by all the snappy words being thrown about.

His interjection had made all the difference though. Sam could feel the tension bleeding out of the room, slowly but surely, like water through a sieve. Dean's aura settled down just the slightest from its stormy green, and Gabe's stopped its metaphorical pouting. It seemed that an appreciation for coffee was the one common denominator they all shared.

_That and wanting to stop the bastard terrorizing Lawrence._

"What were you saying about Gordon?" Dean asked gruffly, trying to put the right foot down.

"That he's probably on demon blood," Sam repeated, sitting on the recliner (he and Cas would just switch out of the chair tonight), "We also think the killer's on demon blood. If we find out where Gordon is getting his from, which should be simple-"

"Then you could get a name on Mr. Psycho through the drug network," Dean finished, green aura sparking with lime-colored lightning as he connected the dots, "Yeah, that could actually work. From what I've heard, not too many people have access to it, and Gordon isn't the smartest guy on the planet. I can lean on him hard enough to make him spill his guts."

"You're familiar with him outside the Roadhouse?"

Dean tilted his head and shrugged casually, eyes sliding to Gabe as he rested an elbow on the counter.

"A couple of work buddies know him. He's a gambling man, and not very good at it."

Sam nodded, reading between the lines. Mayhem Arena took bets on fights most nights and ran a tight ship. If Gordon had fallen into financial trouble in those circles, then he could've easily fallen into crowd rough enough to have connections to demon blood.

"How would we go about finding him though? He doesn't sound like the kind of person you can just look up in the phone book," Gabe remarked, looking between him and Dean with sharp gold eyes. His aura revealed his suspicions that Dean wasn't talking about his job with Bobby, but he was smart enough not to bring it up.

"There's no 'we' with this one. I'll handle it myself," Dean said, aura steely with determination. His mind was set on the subject, and there was little hope anything could be said to change it.

"Dean, that's foolhardy," Cas said from the kitchen with his own flinty voice, and Sam watched with interest as his brother's aura flickered just the slightest.

_Maybe there is some hope for dissuading him, _Sam thought, even as a part of him told him to let it be and to just let Dean handle Gordon.

It wasn't that he _wanted_ his brother to do it alone; in fact, he would've come in a heartbeat if he'd thought Dean would let him. However, he'd been out of the old life for a while, so Dean wouldn't let him tag along without a tooth-and-nail fight on his part, and they didn't have the time for that. Sam was inclined to let Dean play the lone wolf, not only because he was more than capable of handling himself, but because Dean had always been better at this sort of thing.

"It's not like I'm going head to head with The Crucifier," Dean argued, turning to face the Enochian expert, "It's Gordon for fuck's sake. Ten minutes and a little knife-waving-"

"Woah, woah, woah. You can't just pull a _knife_ on this dude!" Gabe exclaimed, butting in with righteous indignation, and Sam winced as Cas' aura turned icy blue with a similar disapproving sentiment.

"Gabe's right; that's unnecessary force. There are limitations to what we can do here, Dean," he said, nostrils flared as his hand clenched on the counter.

"That's really rich, coming from you Cas. The Dead Eyes have been terrorizing you for weeks, all because you can translate the funny little symbols this psychopath likes to paint with people's blood," Dean snapped, "Don't you want to bring an end to this all? All I'm trying to do is keep you safe!"

"What does blatantly attempting to threaten someone have to do with keeping me safe?"

"Well, first one, it's not an attempt; I'm _effective_. It'll get all the bullshit over with quicker, and you can go back home, and I know how much you hate being displaced!"

"That doesn't give you the right to operate outside the law!"

Sam's head was beginning to hurt. This was clearly a well-worn argument between the pair; both of their auras were rearing at each other and encircling them in a way that gave him double vision. Clashing auras when people really got into it were hard to look at, like with Gabe and Dean, but Dean and Cas' auras were so uniquely compatible for the other that watching _them_ fight was a completely different beast.

"They're really getting themselves into a little snit, aren't they?"

At some point, Gabe had moved to sit on the armrest, his aura blanketing him and shielding him from the worst effects of the quarrel. Sam quietly turned to face him more, grateful for the inadvertent help on his part.

"They're both pretty intense people. It only makes sense they'd argue like…well, that," Sam said, waving his hand in their direction.

They both watched Dean and Cas lean towards the other, frowning and scowling as their voices lowered to furious hissing. From the right angle and dimmer lighting, it would've looked as if they'd been locked in a passionate embrace, and Sam snorted at the thought.

"Sorry about earlier."

Sam glanced upward at Gabe, who was picking at his nails and avoiding his gaze.

"It's alright," he said, gently nudging him with his elbow, "Dean's a jackass to a lot of people, and he's irritated plenty of people before you."

Gabe scowled, a wave of self-disgust coursing through his aura.

"That's still not a very good excuse. I didn't mean to upset you," he said forlornly, sad eyes briefly cutting to him before glancing away.

His lip was probably all torn up from all the chewing he'd done in the past hour. It was a miracle Sam hadn't tasted blood yet. He chewed, and tugged on his fringe, and generally ran through all his nervous habits as he tried to come up with the right words to say.

Arguing with Jess had been passionate, and then violent towards the end. She'd liked to throw stuff at him in those final few months, and Sam had grown used to debates ending with him ducking and dodging whatever she could get her hands on.

With Gabe, things were different. For one, real arguments were few and far between (so far at least; they had only known each other for a few weeks), but beyond that their anger seemed to fizzle whenever they did get into it. Sam couldn't bring himself to be mad at Gabe for long, and it seemed to operate that way in return for Gabe.

It didn't help that Dean and Cas were still going at it, their hands now clenched in each other's collars. Sam's brain was stuck between navigating the emotional minefield he'd landed in with Gabe and keeping an eye on the people who seemed to be one step away from either making out angrily on his poor counter or throwing fists.

_God, let it be fists if it does escalate. I don't want to have to disinfect the counter._

"Upsetting me is inevitable," he said, deliberately laying his hand on Gabe's knee and drawing his attention, "What matters is that you acknowledged that you were being a jerk and that you apologized. So, you're good in my books."

Gabe visibly mulled over his words. Sam wondered if the P.I's hesitation came from his lack of meaningful relationships (because between being a foster kid and going straight to never-ending city hopping, how could he?), then put a stop to that line of thought. It made his stomach burn uncomfortably.

"That sounds logical," Gabe said after a minute, face brightening visibly, "You're pretty smart, kiddo."

Sam smiled, hiding the way the P.I's words made him feel suddenly and terribly sorry for him for a single moment. How had he missed Gabe's utter lack of knowledge regarding healthy relationships?

_Because he's so good at forming shallow connections, and I'm not exactly the world's leading relationship expert._

He didn't have the heart to mention any of this to Gabe now, but Sam vowed to himself that he'd show Gabe how good things could be between them if he'd let him. Sam didn't want Gabe to treat him like just another fleeting name and face in the sea of people he'd met in his travels. He didn't want him to continue living like this; adrift and secluded, with only a car to his name and a long list of cases that noted his assistance somewhere in files no one would touch again once they were closed.

"Sam?"

"Right here," he said, stuffing away the tumultuous feelings swirling in his chest down for later (because he'd probably start clinging to Gabe if he focused on them any longer), "Sorry."

Gabe shook his head in fond exasperation, the amused smile tugging on his lips so delightful that Sam couldn't help but watch it.

"Now you're apologizing. But I just wanted to let you know that they're pretty close to potentially consummating your poor counter."

Sam turned to look at the pair that were now clearly not arguing and were instead looking almost lovingly into each other's eyes, speaking in hushed tones as their fingers brushed on his counter. Their position would've been almost cute if it weren't for the fact that he and Gabe were in the vicinity and not interested in witnessing the shenanigans that could potentially ensue.

Gabe snickered as he gaped in indignation (this was _his_ apartment!), before toppling off the armchair in fits of laughter as Sam stood and pointed a finger at them.

"_Get off of my counter_!"

…

After what would forever be immortalized as the Breakfast Bar incident occurred and Dean and Cas had recovered from their embarrassment, everyone decided that the best course of action was to get out of the apartment. Sam was the first to point out that it wasn't quite comfortable enough to hold four grown men, and he didn't want them eating him out of house and home. His brother's stomach was grumbling ominously, and even Cas looked peckish beneath the morose look he was giving the coffee machine. In all the hullaballoo, he'd never actually gotten a chance to get the coffee started.

Dean had picked up on Cas' glum state and suggested they all head out for some comfort food (and coffee for you, Cas) at a diner similar in style to the Roadhouse, but further out on the eastern edge of the city. Sam had heard of it (and privately thought that the Roadhouse had always been superior to it), but he could appreciate Dean's attempts at diplomacy. It was right off the highway that would take Gabe back to North Heights, and it wasn't too far from East Center, so it wouldn't take him forever to get back.

The sun was beginning to set when they head out, bathing Lawrence in a sheen of red that made Sam uneasy. Spring sunsets weren't typically so violent here, and the blood-red and orange shades hit a bit too close to home and the trouble the city was currently embroiled in.

"Looks like the city's on fire," Gabe remarked as they drove through East Center. Dean and Cas were a few cars ahead in the Impala, leaving them to follow in the Beetle.

"It does," he replied softly, eyes trailing over the buildings melting by. The atmosphere had shifted a bit; at some point, Lawrence had gotten warier, and the sunset was highlighting the tense undercurrent that coursed through the streets. Pedestrians were moving faster now, eager to get home before the night came.

_All because of one killer._

Gabe seemed to sense his inner turmoil because within a minute, he had some old 80's synth-pop playing to jolt him out of his funk.

"Dean would _kill_ you if he ever heard this," Sam said incredulously as the music swamped the car in a cacophony of sound.

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him," Gabe said, teeth flashing as he gave him a no-fucks-given smile.

Sam rolled his eyes to hide the warmth that quick as a whip smile brought to his face. Nonetheless, he mumbled some of the cheesy lyrics beneath his breath because Ash and Jo had liked to play them in the break room as a joke.

Charlotte's Diner was smaller than the Roadhouse had been, the inside lit up in a garish flood of fluorescent lighting. Charlotte herself had died some decades before (Sam couldn't recall what year Ellen had said), but the subsequent owners had never bothered to change the name. The large neon sign overhead that proclaimed the name of the diner was still going strong and could be seen over a mile away, so what was the point?

Dean pulled in sloppily, as he always did. Unlike Gabe's similarly crappy parking, Sam knew his brother did it to be a jerk asshole. Owning a classic car gave him the impression that he could throw his weight around, but if he was being honest, Dean had never needed Baby as an excuse to throw his weight around.

"Not a fan?" Gabe asked as they got out, and Sam made a so-so face as he stretched his legs.

"I was always partial to the Roadhouse," he said nostalgically, eyes unfocused as he gazed at the cotton candy blues and pale greens that made up the diner's atmosphere. He missed the steely blues of the Roadhouse.

Gabe patted his shoulder sympathetically, hair and aura picking up the colors of the sunset and turning a tint of orange as a ray of light hit him just right.

"Let's hustle people! I'm starving," Dean said, interrupting the moment with a couple of slaps to the top of the Beetle.

"Insensitive _prick_-" the P.I mumbled before being cut off by Sam's well-placed elbow.

"Please play nice right now. For me?" he asked as they headed inside.

Gabe eyed him for a second before groaning and running a hand dramatically over his face.

"I hate it when you give me those puppy dog eyes. It's unfair!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sam said innocently, and Gabe said "Mhmm" before sighing.

"I'll try. Only for you," he said with a stern gaze, earning a brilliant smile.

They sat at a booth that had seen better days, the Winchesters naturally pairing off so that they sat next to their respective partners. The conversation was muted as they ordered food and drinks, as the strangeness of the situation finally sunk in. Gabe and Dean barely knew each other and disliked what they did know about the other and combined with the varying degrees of knowledge they all had on each other, it made for a largely quiet table.

At least, until Dean put his foot in his mouth. Sam had been expecting it really, what with his brother's nature for conversational blunders, and as such, could only be thankful the ancient waitress had already taken their orders before it happened.

"So, _Milton_," he started, the P.I's surname sounding like a dead weight on his tongue, "How'd you get into the private eye business? Got a tragic backstory like us Winchesters?"

It was a pointed question; Dean's aura revealed that much, but it was mostly born out of curiosity that his brother just couldn't reign in any longer. Dean was obtuse to a fault; a bull in a china shop when it came to a conversation that didn't involve flirtation.

That didn't stop Sam from fixing a medium-grade bitch face at him, or Cas from hissing "that's insensitive!" out from the corner of his mouth.

"I guess it's kind of tragic," Gabe said, looking much calmer than he'd been anticipating. His face was perfectly in character; genial and a touch smug, but his aura revealed his indignation at the question, "Not as tragic as a serial killer, mind you, but it rates a moderate 5 or 6 on the sob story scale."

_Oh dear, _Sam thought as Dean's lip twitched. It had been a good, evasive answer, but Dean could never control himself when Yellow Eyes was brought up, whether directly or indirectly, _I don't want to have to break up a fight in this cliché diner._

"Dude, quit it," he said, nudging his brother's leg beneath the table in an attempt to curb what would no doubt be a knee jerk reaction, "Let's just eat, okay?"

Dean's smile looked perfectly normal to outsiders, but his green eyes had darkened slightly above what might as well have been rows of shark teeth.

"Of course, Sammy," he said, eyes still fixed on Gabe, "I'll just have to talk to him later."

Something snapped in Sam. Maybe it was his brother's eyes or the fact that he highly doubted Dean could have any sort of civil conversation with Gabe on their own. Whatever it was, it made him want to stop all of this in its tracks before Dean got any more convoluted ideas in his head.

He was lucky that they had both seated themselves at their respective ends of the booth because it made it that much easier to drag his brother up and out from the table by the collar of his stupid leather jacket. The motion was so fast and unexpected on both of their parts (Sam didn't like to get physical in public like this) that Dean didn't have time to protest or drag his heels.

Sam could sense a flurry of activity in Gabe's aura, and hear him attempt to get up, but surprisingly, Cas told him to sit. He didn't have time to register much more than that before the diner became a chrome and white blur around them, replaced by the red sky in what felt like a heartbeat.

"What the fuck's up with you?" he demanded, dragging his brother toward the Impala and tossing him onto the hood.

Dean caught himself before he slammed too hard into the hunter green top, his face shocked and partly pissed as he began to regain his senses.

"What the fuck's up with _me_? I should be asking you that question!" he exclaimed, aura kicking up around him like the roaring green waves of a rapid river.

"Me? I'm doing just fine! _You're_ the one being the asshole. What's your problem?"

Dean scoffed, straightening the flipped collar of his jacket before stepping back away from him, towards the driver's side of the Impala.

"He's the problem!" he yelled, pointing a wild finger towards the diner and Gabe. "I've tried to keep my nose out of your business, and I haven't raised too much of a fuss over this dude-"

Sam scoffed in disbelief, and Dean's face twisted in response as he swung his arm over to point his finger at him.

"You can't let yourself get caught up in this guy, Sammy! I saw how Jess left you all messed up, and if you think I'm just going to stand by and let someone else fuck you up again, then are we even brothers?"

Dean's chest heaved as anger and brotherly concern and worry swirled around him in a riot of green color that clashed with the red sky.

Sam's mouth went dry as he took in his brother's words, a different, nervous feeling bubbling in his gut. There was no way Dean was saying what he thought he was saying.

"What…what makes you think this is like Jess?"

Dean blinked before snorting, a wry smile curling his lips and easing the indignant anger that swirled around his shoulders in shades of dark green.

"I'm not blind, Sammy," he said, leaning back against the hood and bracing his arms. The tables had been turned, putting Sam on the defensive. "You got the same love-sick expression around him as you did with Jess."

Dean's expression turned uncomfortable, "I didn't really peg it at first cause, uh, Milton's a guy, but I figured it out today."

Sam flushed, his fingers curling and uncurling into fists by his side. His mind had blanked, frozen by the fact that Dean _knew_.

"It doesn't matter to me if you like guys or not," Dean said hurriedly, misreading the reason he'd frozen up. "I don't give two flying fucks about that Sammy! Lisa told me that I'm too overprotective, but I'm concerned, and-"

"Oh, so now you've dragged in Lisa," Sam snapped, more out of the sake of arguing than out of any feelings he had toward Lisa.

"You know it's not like that. I wouldn't even be talking semi-coherently about half this shit without her help," Dean groaned, sounding more tired and confused than angry now, "I didn't even want to believe her when she said you had a crush, but now it's in my face, so I've gotta listen to everything else she said!"

"And what exactly did she say?" he asked, curiosity now tugging at him more than anger.

Dean sighed, rubbing his hands over his face before looking skyward. He kept his gaze fixed up there at the bloody sky as he spoke, too uncomfortable to look him in the eye.

"She said that I should worry more about our own-_relationship_-than anyone that you want to date," he said, aura twisting around and around like a corkscrew around his frame, wound up tight like his tense shoulders and pressed mouth, "She also said that if there was anyone that was a far from Jess as possible, it would be Gabe, so I shouldn't worry."

He dropped his chin, huffing with sudden indignation as he crossed his arms.

"But I don't know how to stop worrying. I've _always_ worried about you, Sammy. That's my _job_," Dean stated, "And I don't know _how_ he's the furthest from Jess when I don't know anything about him. All I know is that he's a weird P.I consultant thing and that he looks at you like-like-_hell_ like you put the damn moon in the sky or something!"

The last words sounded like they'd pained Dean on the way out, but he said them regardless as he flung a hand upward to point at the half-moon rising above.

Sam flushed. He didn't have any words for his brother, because both he and Lisa were right in their own ways.

Gabe probably was the furthest he could get from Jess. Everything, from their backgrounds to their personalities, was different; hell, Gabe being a guy took him just another step further from her. And Dean was right in that he didn't know anything about Gabe, and if there was one thing his brother hated, it was not knowing everything about anyone and anything that could do him harm.

None of that changed how he felt about Gabe though, or the fact that he wasn't going to let Dean treat Gabe like a potential risk when he'd already determined that Gabe was a risk he could accept.

Sam didn't know how to say all this and more to Dean. Verbal communication wasn't their strongest suit, and Dean's aura showed that he was already stretched thin as it was with what had been said so far.

"He's not like Jess," Sam finally managed to say, "He's not."

Silence fell between them as they looked at each other, breath misting into white clouds as the temperature dropped with the onset of night. The red sky was just about gone, turned mauve and indigo within minutes overhead. One of the many neon signs behind them buzzed, the sound cutting through the ambient city noises around them.

"You deserve better Sammy," Dean said, breaking the silence. His eyes were unreadable, but his aura was more than enough.

It hurt to look at it because Sam had believed that they'd grown distant over the past couple of years, but his brother stood before him just as worried and anxious over his well-being as if nothing had ever come between them. For a moment, it was almost like he'd never left home.

"What I deserve has nothing to do with it," he said, swallowing heavily, "For the first time, in a _long_ time, I feel happy Dean. Let me have that."

Dean flinched, face twisting up in guilt for a single moment before he looked down at his feet.

Sam waited patiently, a soft breeze tugging at his jacket. It carried a cold nip to it that made his shiver just the slightest. He wanted to go back inside now, but Dean had to make the final concession here.

"If he hurts you, I'll make him disappear," his brother finally said, shoulders slumping in defeat as he looked up with determined eyes.

His aura confirmed his honesty that he would probably follow through on that threat, but Sam could care less at that moment. After all, Gabe fell under his protection, and Dean would have a tough fight trying to get through him first.

He pulled his brother into a rough, back-slapping hug, keeping it short so Dean didn't freak out too much. Sam was glad to see that his stormy aura had settled down to just about normal, with only a blip of protectiveness popping up here and there.

"You know, it's pretty insane for you to be happy when a serial killer is running around," Dean remarked, pulling away just enough to clap his hands on his shoulders.

"Yeah, it is pretty fucked up," Sam admitted.

"Well, that's alright," Dean said nonchalantly, slinging an arm around his shoulder and steering him back towards the diner, "You're no more fucked up than the rest of us."

It took him a moment to determine that the 'us' Dean was referring to was the four of them at the diner, but by that time, he was already back inside and he couldn't think on it for long. Gabe was demanding to know what happened, his aura all worried and riled up, and Cas was already fussing at Dean in a remarkably domestic manner.

Sam didn't try to read too much into the possibility that maybe their unusual group dynamic could possibly be growing on Dean. Maybe, like the blood-red sunset, it was just a sign of the times.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Editing that convo between Sam and Dean was so hard cause in the initial draft I'd skimmed over much of it. Basically, this whole chapter is just everyone swinging between arguing and having soft moments, cause they had a lot to get out of their systems, especially Dean!

Since it's Christmas Eve, it's a good time for me to wish everyone happy holidays for whatever you celebrate this season! This is my gift to you all, and I hope you are happy and safe wherever you may be!


	13. Pentacle

**Chapter 13: Pentacle**

Night descended like a gauzy curtain over Charlotte's Diner. Light pollution kept the night from being truly dark, but the red sunset gave way to indigo easily enough in the end. Gabe was used to this half-night after all of his travels, but Cas appeared unnerved by it.

"I still can't get used to how bright it is out here in Lawrence," he remarked, eyes drifting across the sky outside. Gabe noticed that they didn't drift over to Dean at all.

"Didn't grow up here?" he asked, letting himself be drawn in by the attempt at distraction. Cas could be at ease with the situation if he wanted, but Gabe wasn't. He kept his eyes fixed on the arguing brothers outside, and especially on Sam.

_He looks bigger. More dangerous._

Sam, for intents and purposes, successfully came off as a gentle giant. He'd fallen for it in the beginning, back when Sam had just been the cute waiter at the Roadhouse, but he knew better now. Sam had facets to his character, each one brought out the longer he got to know him. The tall, dark, and dangerous man looming over his brother outside was just as much a part of him as the college student or the ex-waiter.

"No, I grew up about an hour from here, far from any sort of cities," Cas explained, fingers drumming against the lacquered table slowly, "My childhood friend and I always swore we would never come here."

A little more of Gabe's attention was drawn in by Cas (it helped that things weren't descending into a fistfight as he'd feared), and he turned momentarily to see an uncharacteristically wistful look on his face.

"You two were that close, huh?"

"Yes, we grew up on the same street. She didn't want to come here because she thought it would lead to a dead-end life, and I didn't want to come here because the local church always called Lawrence "The Second City of Sin"," Cas said dryly, a half-smile tugging on his lips, "Quite catchy."

"Quite," Gabe echoed, picking up his cup of coffee and sipping it as he found his curiosity becoming truly peaked. He liked Cas; the man was one of the quirkiest characters he'd ever met, and they both had the same chance-based link to a Winchester. "But here you are anyway. For school?"

"For school," Cas confirmed, splaying his hands on the table, "And a bit for Hannah too, as LU is her dream school. She was…sheltered, like me growing up, and I didn't want things to be as hard for her as they were for me at the start."

"Religious family?" Gabe asked sympathetically, receiving a nod.

"Hmm. I've had my fair share of those kinds of foster families," the P.I said, crinkling his nose as he reminisced on some of those not so fond times. Granted, they hadn't all been bad, but many had been less than pleasant for a moody teen with no direction in life and a grudge against the world.

"Meg ended up coming out here. My childhood friend," he clarified, "At least, that's the last I heard, but I haven't talked to her in years."

The name rang a warning bell in Gabe's mind, but most of his attention was still fixed outside. Sam and Dean appeared to have come to an impasse and were just standing there, braced against the wind and waiting.

Waiting for what, Gabe didn't know. But now that there was a lull outside, Gabe let himself focus on Cas.

"Wait, Meg?" he asked, turning to fully face him.

"Yes. Her name was Meg," Cas said slowly, tilting his head in confusion, "Why?"

Gabe let go of his coffee to raise his hand a bit above his head, his brain churning as he processed the potential connection.

"Medium height, dark hair and eyes, super mouthy?"

Cas' whole face changed in the blink of an eye, going from impassive and slightly nostalgic to an intense focus that caught him off guard.

"You know her. Where is she? Is she alright?" he asked, firing off questions filled with equal parts excitement and concern, brow furrowed as he leaned forward.

_Uh oh, _Gabe thought, belatedly realizing what he'd stepped into as he scratched his neck and fumbled for a response. All he knew of Meg was that she was the one writing the letters to Sam and that she'd been a waitress at the Roadhouse that joked around with him before dipping from a very horrible relationship with a scummy Dead Eye member. None of that was information he could just drop on Cas without Sam or Dean present; Sam would fill in the blanks better, and Dean would keep Cas from blowing a gasket he didn't know the man even had.

"Er…about that…"

The door swung open behind him, and Gabe glanced back to see the brothers returning with their arms slung around each other. He sighed heavily with relief, slouching down as Sam and Dean seated themselves.

"Cas wants to know about Meg!" he blurted out, gesturing to the practically vibrating man across from him as he looked (not desperately at all) at Sam for assistance.

Sam paused, mind visibly switching track as he realized that events had transpired while he'd been gone. Then he sighed, running a hand through his hair as he focused on Cas.

"Right. That probably would've come up eventually."

"_Eventually_?"

Cas somehow managed to infuse an ungodly amount of emotion in that single word; eyes blazing as he leaned it.

Sam flinched back, hard. Dean stared, eyes wide, and Gabe found that it was up to him to smooth things over even as his heart pounded because _Christ _was Cas intimidating looking like that. Who knew the dusty Enochian expert had it in him?

"Meg isn't exactly living it up right now Cas. How about you listen to Sam, so he can tell you exactly how things worked out the way they did?"

"Yeah Cas, listen to Sammy first before you go ripping a new one into him. We just got back from doing all that," Dean said, laughing nervously as he slung a tentative arm around Cas' shoulders.

_Did Dean just back me up?_

The brief look they exchanged as Cas slumped into Dean's side said yes, the Winchester was aware of their collaboration, and no, he wasn't very pleased by it. Gabe didn't want to say anything childish Dean to make the tense situation worse, so he left it at that and drank some coffee to end the look.

"Alright," Cas said, the anger draining from his as quickly as it came, "Can you tell me how you know Meg, Sam?"

"Of course," Sam said quietly, before launching into the short but tragic tale that he could tell of Meg Masters.

When he got to the part about working with her at the Roadhouse and the fire there, Cas bowed his head, reaching up a trembling hand to cover his eyes.

"I _knew_ it. I thought I'd seen her in the crowd, but everything was so confusing that night…" Cas murmured, already deep voice thick and rough with what sounded like tears before he suddenly looked up at Dean, revealing dry eyes, "Remember when you said I looked as if I'd seen a ghost?"

Dean nodded, and Gabe was impressed by the appropriately grave and concerned expression he had. His heartstrings were twinging at the horrible irony of it all, and he wouldn't tolerate an insensitive remark from Dean at a time like this.

"She looked so different, I didn't even recognize her," he continued morosely.

"You can't be blamed," Dean said gruffly, "That night was a shitshow."

"At least she's safe," Cas sighed, a bone-deep tired expression crossing his face, "As safe as anyone can be in this damned city."

They lapsed into silence, unable to refute Cas' words or offer any more comfort. Somewhere in the diner, someone coughed, and a light buzzed.

"Wait…when did you guys get coffee?" Dean asked, frowning at the twin cups Gabe and Cas were nursing.

"While you were outside. It tastes awful though," Cas said, glowering into his cup, and Gabe grimaced in agreement.

"Tastes like ass," he added, gesturing to the small mountain of ripped open sugar packets sitting next to the napkins, "Not even the Lord's best creation could save this cup."

Cas snorted as Sam sighed and Dean gaped at the sight of the sugar.

"Told you the Roadhouse was better," Sam remarked as Gabe took a sip of his coffee and gagged dramatically.

"Okay, maybe!" Dean acquiesced, throwing up his hands as Gabe clutched his throat and slumped against Sam, twitching slightly in his fake death throes.

"Somebody call 911," Cas quipped, a small smile crossing his face.

"Or the loony bin. Don't look now, but I think you're scaring the waitress," Dean remarked, gesturing to the ancient lady toddling over to take their orders.

"We'll have to call 911 for her," Sam muttered, and Gabe had to admit that it was a likely possibility. She looked as if she'd been here all her life, her blue and white dress uniform a vintage relic from a bygone era.

"Do I even want to know?" she rasped, smoker's voice even rougher than Cas' baritone.

"No ma'am, he's just an idiot," Dean said, flashing a megawatt smile that Gabe was positive dropped hundred of panties and jaws in the past.

"I may be an idiot, but I'm not stupid," he sniffed, crossing his arms and dispelling his death throes.

"What does that even _mean_?"

Sam snickered at his brother's flabbergasted expression, and the waitress looked over her horn-rimmed glasses to fix a standard old lady "you boys are foolish" look at the both of them.

"I'll have the double cheeseburger with extra fries," Cas interjected, shutting his menu crisply, "Dean, order."

Gabe didn't think the Winchester would comply, as Dean came off as the sort of guy that didn't like any sort of authority figures (besides his father, but he couldn't make that jibe without upsetting Sam), but Dean surprisingly reined it in and placed the same order as Cas.

"Along with a slice of that fabulous looking cherry pie on the counter," he added with a nearly coquettish smile.

_Does he never stop flirting? _

Sam's long-suffering sigh affirmed that his brother indeed didn't before he tried to order a salad.

Tried being the operative word, as both Dean and Gabe voiced their opinions against it. It was another moment of unexpected agreement, but really, Sam wasn't looking so good. If Gabe was being honest, Sam had been looking rough around the edges ever since his sleepwalking started.

They persuaded him into some soup, and then Gabe placed a breakfast order featuring waffles, because what else would he order late in the evening in a diner that looked as if it had never left 1983?

While they waited, they discussed smaller details of the complex web that the emergence of The Crucifer had created. Things like the troubling amount of gang activity in specifics thanks to Dean, and people that were more important than they appeared at first glance, like Meg and Kevin. Getting on the same page was rough, as they kept having to backtrack to cover things one of the others may not have known, not to mention Dean and Gabe's propriety to flare up when one provoked the other. However, Gabe managed to keep himself in check for Sam's sake and Dean appeared to attempt to do so too.

By the time their food rolled around, they were all more or less on the same page. Gabe was surprised to learn how complex the gang factions were in Lawrence, and Dean was taken aback by the number of reckless activities Sam had partaken in with him.

"You've been in the LPD _basement_? What was that like?" he asked, interest peaked.

"Imagine a hospital hallway, throw in some water damage, and multiply it by a hundred," Sam replied, "I don't know how you navigate down there Gabe."

"I don't," Gabe admitted.

Sam tilted his head in confusion, and across from him, Cas swallowed the massive bite of cheeseburger he'd taken and asked, "What do you mean?"

"I've got a desk in the proper building, so I don't need to go down there," Gabe said with a shrug, stabbing his fork into one of his waffles, "All I know is how to get to the morgue and Frank's room. Beyond that, I've got no clue what the hell they got down there."

"Fascinating," Cas mumbled, tearing into his burger with relish and chewing before continuing, "My sister knows more about the history of Lawrence than I do, but I do know that multiple buildings downtown also contain sprawling sublevels. I think there's a framed map somewhere in the history department of the old city hall basement."

"Could we get maps for the other places?" Dean asked.

Cas' eyes narrowed as he picked up a fry and shook it in a chastising manner at the eager Winchester.

"Not if you're going to try and break into buildings."

Dean groaned, and Sam rolled his eyes before turning to focus his attention on Gabe.

"How are you doing? Are those waffles any good?" he asked, eyeing his syrup-drenched plate critically.

"Pretty good. But I have to admit, I prefer the Roadhouse," Gabe said with a dramatic sigh, "There was a waiter there that I was fond of."

Sam blushed a cute shade of pink. Dean looked between the two of them before coughing loudly and firmly slapping a hand down on the table.

"What do you know about the Mayhem Arena, Milton?"

Dean's attempt to keep them from getting too cozy with each other at the table (which was hypocritical considering he and Cas were practically in each other's laps; they were that close), was obvious, but Gabe decided to follow up anyway. He was no better than a brainless fish faced with tasty bait when faced with potentially useful information for a case.

"Not much. Just that you fight in it, and that it's pretty well established for an illegal fighting ring," he said casually, ignoring Sam's not so subtle elbow jab to his ribs as he speared a piece of waffle.

Across the table, the only reaction his blunt words got from Dean was an eye twitch. The rest of his face remained impassive and easy, at least until he sighed and began to speak.

"Right. Well, there's one thing I haven't told you guys. Partly because Mayhem Arena isn't keen on outsiders knowing some things, and partly because it's just a rumor. A rumor that holds some merit, but it's still a fresh rumor that I haven't been able to confirm yet."

"Which is?" Sam asked, setting down his spoon with a creased brow.

"My…_boss_ is supposedly thinking of buying a cut of demon blood. He thinks it'd make a good steroid," Dean said, "Besides me and a couple of others, the Mayhem fighters have been losing for the last few months."

"But…wouldn't the side effects deter him?" Cas asked anxiously, and with good reason. The idea of people like Dean (and maybe Dean himself), trained and more than capable of hurting others, on a crazy drug didn't bode well.

"Not much deters the King of Hell when he's set his mind on something," Dean scoffed, "Besides, all the side effect stuff is just rumor at this point. _Everything_ regarding demon blood is."

"The King of Hell?"

Gabe couldn't help but ask, because he'd never heard of such a figure in all his time in Lawrence. It hadn't been a _long_ time, per se, but the tone that Dean spoke of him in suggested someone at the forefront of crime in the city; someone who police would surely talk about during street patrols or over cold department coffee.

"It's one of the nicknames Dean's boss earned," Sam said quietly, in a tone that said to drop it _now_, "It's best not to know too much about him."

"You _really_ don't want to know man," Dean added in a tired tone.

The undercurrent running between the brothers was quickly rising to the surface. They were both wary of this King of Hell; much more wary than he usually saw them be. Cas shifted uncomfortably, but his eyes betrayed that he knew more about the King of Hell as they cut to Gabe before drifting down to his nearly empty plate.

A brief flare of irritation nearly made Gabe push his luck further because he _hated_ not knowing something that could be relevant to his work.

Sam's hand grasped his thigh beneath the table just as he mentally decided to go for it. The squeeze was brief, gone in the blink of an eye, but Gabe got the message.

_Later._

"Alright," he said easily enough, shoving down the impatience, "I'll take a fry as compensation."

He swiped his chosen victim off of Cas' plate and gobbled it up before the poor guy could even react. It worked to get the conversation moving down non-work-related lines, and soon enough, they just looked like another rowdy bunch of men living it up at midnight in a dead-end diner just for the hell of it.

They called it a night just shy of 2 AM; Sam was beginning to doze at the table, and Cas himself was slumped on Dean's shoulder at the end, sleepily chucking at Gabe's antics despite the two or three coffee refills he'd accepted (despite the crappy taste). Dean and Gabe found themselves the wired ones of the group, leading their respective partners out of the diner and into the nippy night air with as much grace as they could.

It wasn't so easy for either of them, as Sam was much taller than Gabe, and Cas had become surprisingly clingy, but they managed.

"Milton."

Gabe glanced up to see Dean leaning against the passenger side of the Impala. His eyes were sharp, but not cutting as they studied him for a moment.

"You're…not so bad a guy," he said, grimacing at his admittance, "I can see why Sam likes you."

If he hadn't been leaning against his car door, Gabe probably would've fallen to the ground in shock.

"Are you feeling ok?" he asked, suspiciously. He wasn't sure when the clone of Dean could've been switched out for the real one, but what other explanation was there for what was probably the nicest thing the Winchester had ever said to him?

Dean barked out a laugh before shaking his head with a rueful smile.

"I haven't done good by Sam lately. But you have," he said, looking at him peculiarly, "And I can't let a random guy do better by Sam than me. I've _always_ taken care of my brother. I can't go as far as to say thank you, but..."

Gabe turned the words over in his mind, trying to align them with what he knew of Dean Winchester before deciding that maybe this wasn't a clone. The one thing that he was 100% sure of was that Dean cared about Sam, even if he went about it in some odd ways. If his presence spurred Dean to reach out to Sam in a healthier manner and potentially bridge the divide that had opened up between them, then so be it.

He'd never had a good sibling figure growing up, but he wouldn't deny Sam his brother just because Dean was an asshole to him. For one, that was just _wrong, _and two, he didn't think he was (or would ever be) at a level where Sam would pick him over Dean.

The more Gabe understood the Winchester dynamic, the more it just made sense that they would always stick together one way or another. So, it didn't sting as much as it initially did when thinking about a "pick-me" scenario.

Keywords being _as much_. It was like picking at a scab that was mostly healed, but sometimes if you picked at it too much it'd reopen, and right now he was picking too much at it.

"I get it," he said, putting the Winchester out of his boot toeing, arm crossed misery, "Don't blow a vein out trying to find the words man. Lord knows Sam's looked constipated enough doing so."

Dean jerked his head up from where'd he'd been studiously studying the gravelly asphalt, and Gabe shrugged.

"You two are pretty similar. Get Cassie home safe, yeah?" he said, popping open his car door.

"Yeah…yeah, I will."

"What was that all about?" Sam asked as they left Charlotte's Diner behind. His voice was soft with approaching sleep, his head tucked into the crook of his shoulder as he spoke with his eyes closed.

"Just your brother being your brother," Gabe said with a vague hand gesture, "So, are you going to tell me about the King of Hell, or is that going to be pushed off to tomorrow?"

He didn't want to pressure Sam to tell him, especially when he seemed to be on the verge of sleep, but Gabe had to know. His instincts were telling him something was down this path of inquiry, if only because it could be no coincidence that yet another religious motif had popped up. If this nickname for Dean's "boss" was as common as they were making it out to be, there was no doubt The Crucifier had taken note.

Sam said nothing for a long minute, long enough that Gabe was beginning to think he'd fallen asleep. He was just starting to debate whether or not he should wake him when Sam spoke, sitting up with a sigh

"No one knows his real name," he stated, "At least, I don't think Crowley is his real name. But that's what he's called."

Gabe filed the name away for later as Sam continued.

"He's…well, he's something else," he said dryly, "Crafty, clever, ruthless…there's just about nothing he wouldn't do to get the edge over someone or to claw his way up the ladder. Mayhem Arena's been his for a while now, but he fought a mob family for it. Ran them out of Lawrence and has been ruling over the world of underground fights ever since."

"How did Dean get involved with him?"

"Dean was too good at fighting," Sam said with a half-smile, "Started at school. Dean never could focus, and I got picked on when I was young. He made a name for himself by beating up my bullies, and if he wasn't doing that he was at a boxing ring to blow off steam after school. That's where Crowley found him.

"At first, Dean turned him down. But you don't just _turn down_ The King of Hell. He started watching Dean at the boxing ring and started adding to his offer. More money, a guarantee that he could walk away free and clean when he won enough fights."

Something in Sam's voice told Gabe that there was something that he was leaving out, and he had a feeling that he knew what. After all, Sam was no pushover, and he'd learned alongside Dean for much of his life from their father.

"He tried to drag you into it, didn't he?"

"Yeah. There were other things, like Dean being on the verge of dropping out, but I went to the boxing ring one day to help Dean out. There aren't many people that can hold their own against my brother, and Crowley somehow found out. He said that if Dean didn't make a deal with him, that he'd try to make a deal with _me_."

Gabe's stomach turned. Sam couldn't have been more than thirteen or fourteen at the time if Dean was still in _high school_ at this point. Just who did this Crowley person think he was?

"Where was your father in all this?" he asked, trying to wrap his mind around it all. Sam had skimmed over this heavily when he'd spilled the beans on his childhood; all he knew was that Dean had started fighting in high school.

"He didn't know until Crowley came to the house," Sam said, tugging on his hair, "And then he tried to take Dean's place."

That brought Gabe to a screeching mental halt. He had to admit, he hadn't expected that from the Winchester patriarch.

"He's not too shabby in a fight if he'd quit the damn bottle," Sam mumbled before getting himself back on track, "Crowley wouldn't accept though. Dean…well, he's good at what he does. He wanted Dean at the very least if he couldn't get the complete Winchester brother package."

Gabe could only imagine how tense that conversation must've been. The Winchesters fought crime in their free time for Christ's sake, and suddenly they were forced to dance with the devil.

"So…Dean made a deal?"

"Dean made a deal," Sam confirmed grimly, "Neither of us wanted him to, but what choice did we have? Even if we'd killed Crowley, the power vacuum it would've left behind would've been catastrophic. He's an asshole and sadistic, but he's also a businessman at the core. He keeps things ordered and fairly restrained, and that's a hell of a lot better than some maniac running things."

Gabe didn't like how casually Sam talked about killing Crowley (had they really considered it?), but the Winchester was already moving on.

"The deal is that Dean has to fight for 7 years. Win, lose, it doesn't matter: Dean's a Mayhem Arena fighter for that time, and he's only free once all 7 years are up."

"When did he make the deal? When he was 18?"

Sam nodded, and Gabe whistled as he did the mental math.

"Jesus. That's awful, kiddo," he said sympathetically, because what else could he say? Dean was good at fighting, and clearly took some enjoyment from it, but the anvil looming over his head couldn't be easy to bear.

"He did it for me," Sam said bitterly, looking out the window, "I didn't want him to, but he did. And I hate that it happened."

"It's not your fault, Sam."

"I could've just fought for Crowley. Both of us would've only had to do a few years, and all of it would've been done with by now."

Gabe didn't mean to take the exit so harshly, but it _was_ their exit, and he needed to pull over into a side street so that he could properly talk some sense into Sam.

_Stupid Winchester, _he thought, whipping the Beetle nearly almost into a curb as he pulled over. _Stupid Winchesters and their stupid self-sacrificing natures!_

"Jeez Gabe, what is with you and pulling over at random?" Sam asked, clutching the seat belt as Gabe threw the gear into park.

"What's with you and saying stupid stuff that forces me to pull over?"

Sam's responding bitch face was fairly low grade all things considered. Gabe forged on, turning in his seat so Sam knew he meant business.

"Do you hear yourself right now? You were fresh out of _middle school_ at the time," he said, knowing his words were having an impact when Sam's chin dipped down, "There's no way you would've survived in that sort of environment. Not the soft side of you at least."

"I'm not soft," Sam mumbled, and Gabe snorted before hooking his finger under his chin, forcing him to look up. In the streetlights, his eyes gleamed almost green.

"Not all of you, but this version of you that I know is. I'd have never gotten to _know_ you if you'd fallen into that world. Get it?"

Sam sighed before leaning forward to momentarily rest his forehead on his shoulder.

"I'm _tired_."

"I know," Gabe said, daring to card his fingers through the hair that curled up along the nape of Sam's neck, "But do you get it?"

A long pause, and then a barely audible, "Yeah."

Gabe didn't push him any further. He could tell that Sam got it, even if he still harbored some guilt over the whole situation, but they'd work on that later. Right now, he had to get Sam home.

It wasn't until they were about a block from Sam's apartment building that the Winchester spoke again.

"Do you remember when I told you why I got the tattoo on my back?"

"Yeah?" Gabe replied, frowning in confusion. It was a random question he hadn't been expecting, and he was beginning to believe he'd have to lug Sam up to his apartment. He sounded just about asleep.

Sam may have sounded asleep, but his eyes were clearer than he expected when he opened them.

"I never told you the story about this one," he said, tugging down his shirt collar to flash part of his collar bone and the black pentacle just beneath it, "Dean got his when Crowley first started hounding him. He got the grand idea that he'd get a tattoo for protection against demons and asked me to look up something that'd do the trick. It was like a big fat fuck you to the biggest devil in the city."

"Something tells me you didn't get that one legally," Gabe said dryly, and Sam shrugged.

"I knew of someone in high school that had access to a tattoo gun, and it's not that hard of a design. After Crowley sunk his claws into my brother, I wanted to do _something_. Dean was pissed when he found out," Sam said, smiling, "But it made me feel a little better about everything."

"I suppose I can't fault you for it," Gabe said. He understood Sam's reasoning at the time, even if it ran along the lines of a foolhardy teenage act, "Let's hope it keeps doing its job."

The black pentacle remained on his mind as he dropped Sam off (he didn't have to walk him in, but he still waited until Sam got inside before pulling off) and made his way back home. Gabe had always wondered but had never asked Sam why he had it. After he'd explained the words on his back and not the pentacle, he'd understood that the story behind it was much deeper.

It was another layer of Sam Winchester pulled back, one that proved Gabe's initial hypothesis was correct. Sam was a person of many secrets, and they weren't made of sunshine and rainbows. They were dark and upsetting, and more than a little steeped in illegal activity.

But none of that mattered to him. Gabe had committed himself to fully knowing Sam somewhere along the line, and he wouldn't back away now.

…

The next morning, the Beetle wouldn't start.

"You great big bag of dicks!" Gabe exclaimed, kicking one of the tires.

His car said nothing in return, most likely too ashamed by its failure to start. Gabe loved his car; he truly did, but lately, it had started acting up, and he was _not_ pleased with it.

"Dammit," he muttered. He'd been hoping to drop by the station to see how things were going under the guise of seeking out other cases to work on, but now his plans were shot to hell. That was a long way to go on the subway, and Gabe hadn't traversed the underground well enough to bother trying to figure out what route would get him there.

But he did know how to take the train to East Center.

"Ah, fuck it," he grumbled, throwing his hands into the air, "Might as well."

He grabbed his bag from inside his car, shooting one final glare at his beloved Beetle before turning crisply on his heel. Maybe a day in parking garage timeout would teach it to behave better.

Gabe's phone sat like a stone in his pocket, just about dead. In an uncharacteristic move, he'd fallen asleep without plugging it in, and now he regretted forgetting. While he didn't think Sam would be too mad at him for dropping by out of the blue (he'd already done it!), he would've liked to warn that he was coming anyway. For all he knew, Sam wouldn't even be there.

_Yeah, if LU was in session and the Roadhouse still existed._

Buoyed by the more than depressing thought that Sam's life had been reduced drastically enough that he couldn't be anywhere else _but_ home, Gabe entered the subway.

When he arrived at Sam's front door, he could hear activity inside; more than enough for two people. An unmarked letter envelope was tucked into the door jam, fluttering a bit in the drafty hall. Gabe frowned at it before tugging it out. Sam's apartment complex wasn't the best, but he was sure that this wasn't how mail got delivered around here.

He knocked on the door. There was a scuffled sound inside, like someone dragging something against the ground, before the door opened.

"Oh. Hey Gabe," Sam said, rubbing one eye with a yawn. His other hand gripped a baseball bat that trailed behind him, but that wasn't really what Gabe was focusing on.

"Made a new habit of answering the door shirtless?" he asked, trying not to make it obvious that he was staring at the abs that Sam really had no business possessing so many of.

_Jesus, they're so defined that they'd give washboard abs a run for their money!_

Sam blinked owlishly before looking down at himself and scratching his head.

"Whoops."

"You'll have to forgive his indecency, Mr. Milton," Kevin remarked, head peeking around the corner of the kitchen behind Sam, "He's all sorts of a mess when he gets too much sleep. Sam, step back to let the poor dude in. If this was a house, you'd be letting the wind in."

Sam grunted, pulling the door open wider, and Gabe stepped in with a frown.

"Too _much_ sleep?"

"I know it sounds crazy," Kevin said, screwing the top of a thermos shut tight. He was dressed to go out, and he gestured for Sam to leave the door open as he tucked the thermos into the pocket of a backpack, "Sam here isn't used to getting more 6 or 7 hours of sleep, so when he gets more he's all out of whack. Have fun sorting him out!"

Kevin smiled cheerily, shooting him an encouraging thumbs-up as he shrugged his backpack on.

"Get some coffee, big guy," he said to Sam, slapping his back on the way out, "And put that baseball bat away! We both remember what happened the last time you swung that thing around."

He shut the door behind him, leaving them standing awkwardly in the entrance hall.

"Uhhh…hi," Sam said before frowning adorably, "I said that already, didn't I?"

Gabe couldn't help but smile. A confused Sam was a pretty cute one, even if it was disconcerting to see the normally articulate guy reduced to a state of being that so far resembled something about one step above caveman.

"You did, but that's alright," he said, doing the deadbolt for Sam, who didn't look as if he was going to remember things such as locks, "You have mail."

He handed the letter over to Sam, who took it and frowned down at the envelope.

"Huh. I wasn't expecting…oh!" he said as he opened it up and peeked inside, "I'll read this later. Is there still coffee left?"

As it turned out, Kevin had been considerate enough to leave some coffee in the pot. Gabe fixed up the cup for Sam (black, with just a dash of creamer), as the man himself sat on the couch, appearing to be at a loss for what to do.

"Sleep well?" Gabe asked, amused as he brought the cup over. Really, this was becoming almost ridiculous now.

"Yeah. No sleepwalking," Sam said with a satisfied smile, taking the cup from him with a grunt of thanks.

Gabe plopped down next to him and let him drink some of the coffee first before continuing. Sam needed a dose of caffeine, and maybe a shirt.

_Ok, he doesn't _need_ a shirt, but it'd make my brain function a lot better if he did have one on._

"I miss the Roadhouse. And the night shift," Sam said as his brain cells started to wake up, "I got used to the schedule."

Gabe hummed sympathetically. Switching around sleep schedules sucked, especially when going from night shifts to something more normal.

"I worked the night shift at a gas station when I was 18," he said, "I spent like 6 months living completely nocturnally. I'd wake up at noon, attend some classes, and then go in at six. I'd get off around 5 or 6, and then I slept through the whole morning."

"Really? What was that like?" Sam asked, perking up.

"Absolutely insane," Gabe said with a chuckle, "I'm glad I had the summer to switch back to something more regular when I left that job because _holy cow_ did it fuck me up. But I did have a lot of interesting stuff happen to me while I was there."

"You weren't ever robbed, were you?"

Gabe shook his head, "It was in the middle of nowhere, so we didn't get many people. I just saw some strange folks."

Sam nodded, going back to his coffee. His hair made a bird's nest look tame, and Gabe longed to run his hands through it to smooth it down. Damn it if he didn't have a slight obsession with long hair.

_Hands to yourself Milton! Now is not the time._

"What state was that in?" Sam asked.

It took Gabe a moment to connect the question to his gas station job, and he hummed in thought. Even though it hadn't been _that_ long since he'd been 18, his constant travels had made some things turn into one long blur.

"Michigan," he replied, snapping his fingers as it came to him, "Yeah, it was definitely Michigan, cause the station sold Great Lakes merch. You know, I've been to every state except Hawaii."

Sam's face brightened, eyes lighting up as he turned to face him.

"Really? That's so cool! Even Alaska?" he asked, genuinely astounded and impressed.

Gabe's chest puffed up. He couldn't help it; he _liked_ it when Sam looked at him as if he'd hung the stars in the sky.

"Even Alaska," he confirmed, "But only once for a really weird case that I was recommended for in a really weird chain of events. I've either been fostered in a state or worked a case in one."

"We always stayed on the west side of the Mississippi," Sam said with what almost looked like a _pout_, "But at least I can say I'm a Midwest road expert!"

"That's more than some people can say," Gabe pointed out, "Besides, there's one state we both have in common that we've never been to."

Sam tilted his head in confusion, visibly buffering before it clicked.

"Hawaii! We should go to Hawaii together. It can be a bucket list thing," he said excitedly.

"I didn't know you had a bucket list kiddo," Gabe said, his traitorous heart doing jumping jacks in his chest. Sam wanted to go to _Hawaii_ with him?

His brain joined in on the treachery, conjuring up images of relaxing by the beach and glistening skin. Gabe pinched his arm hard twice, finally managing to curb his impulses and catching the end of Sam's answer.

"…the main thing I want to do is visit a beach. Not necessarily Hawaii, but any beach. I've never been to one."

"You've never been to a beach? Well, we'll have to fix that," Gabe said, filing away the information for later.

He was prone to hyperbole (just about everyone he'd ever met had pointed it out to him), but Gabe was sure that Sam's responding smile was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"That'd be nice. You couldn't fuss at me for being shirtless at the beach."

Gabe harrumphed, turning his nose up to hide his blush as Sam laughed into his coffee.

"I need to charge my phone," he said, nearly forgetting about the poor thing in his pocket, "You got a spare outlet…?"

"We have plenty a spare outlet, you Puritan," Sam said, pointing at one beneath the window.

"Did you just call me a _Puritan_?"

"Because you have issues with me being shirtless! Get it?" Sam laughed, pleased as punch at his cleverness.

Gabe grumbled nonsensically under his breath as he plugged in his phone. At least he now knew that Sam was waking up.

"I don't have _negative_ issues with your shirtless state. In fact, my issues are very positive!" he exclaimed before he could stop himself.

Sam waggled his eyebrows, grinning far too smugly for his own good as he set his cup down on the coffee table.

"Good to know," he said huskily, abs shifting as he sat back up against the couch with splayed arms and slouched back.

_You smug bastard, _Gabe thought as he gaped at the blatant flex show. He'd done that on purpose!

He busied himself with turning his phone on because there was no way he could dignify that with a response that wouldn't land him smack dab in no-no territory with Sam. He was trying to do this the _right_ way, not pounce on Sam and drag him back to his bed before they could say serial killer three times fast!

_Calm thoughts Milton. Calm, non-sexual thoughts. Think of paperwork. Lots of paperwork._

Ah paperwork, his greatest enemy. Gabe sighed, feeling himself beginning to calm down at about the same time his phone began to start buzzing wildly.

"What the heck?" he muttered, scrolling through the text messages he'd gotten while his phone had been out of commission.

_Det. Jodinator: Milton, the FBI is starting to take over the task force. All hell's broken loose over here. Good news is that no one's learned you talked to H yet if that counts for anything._

_Det. Jodinator: Also Donna says that you shouldn't be cheesy but "actually romantic" when you ask your partner out. Her words, not mine._

Gabe snorted at that. It did sound like something Donna would say, and she did have a point. His pick-up lines were purposefully corny, and that was about all the solid material he had in the romance department. He didn't need much beyond them before he'd come to Lawrence.

The next few texts weren't nearly as amusing.

_Det. Jodinator: Bela's pissed off. She's called all of us in for one last-ditch effort at…something. Will keep you informed._

_Det. Jodinator: She's going after Sam now with the FBI to question him. Warn him!_

Gabe's insides froze over, but he forced himself to continue down to the last text.

_Det. Jodinator: We're on the way. Hopefully we can curb her. Where are you?_

_It has to be pretty urgent for Jody to use punctuation like that, _he thought. Her texts were usually straight to the point and dry.

He checked the time the last text was sent (just over twenty minutes ago) and cursed. It only took half an hour tops, even with rush hour traffic, to get to East Center from the LPD.

"What's wrong?"

Gabe turned to look at Sam, who'd gotten up from the couch. He'd somehow sensed that something wasn't right, and already looked more alert.

"Bela's coming with the FBI. They want to question you. Casually, I think!" he said hurriedly as Sam stiffened.

"As casually as the LPD can question someone in their home," he muttered, running a hand through his hair and yanking, "When are they coming?"

"Soon. Minutes," Gabe replied, firing back "_Got it, but?_" at Jody, "I can't be here when they do."

"Yeah, that wouldn't exactly be good," Sam said, already scooping up the jacket Gabe had shed on his way in, "If you leave now, then we should be alright…"

He trailed off, looking out the window, and Gabe followed his gaze.

Two dark sedans had pulled up, one the navy blue of standard LPD issued detective cars, and the other blacker than sin.

_FBI, _he thought as the doors began to open.

"_Shit_," Sam swore. All traces of the goofy caveman he'd been greeted by were gone, replaced by regular Sam. "Ok, Plan B. I hope you're not claustrophobic."

He grabbed his elbow and steered him towards the door. Gabe looked up at him in confusion as they stopped in front of the small coat closet that stood across from the kitchen entryway.

"You want me to hide in there?" he asked incredulously as Sam yanked the door open. It wasn't the strongest hiding spot he'd have chosen in the apartment.

"Not the closet, the storage space in it," the Winchester explained, sweeping back a few boxes on the top shelf to reveal a small square door set in the back, "Kevin could fit into it, so you should be fine."

"I don't want to know how why you two decided that'd be a good idea to test out," Gabe said, eyeing the door with displeasure, "But fine! How am I going to-"?

Sam reached up one long arm to open the door, revealing a disconcertingly dark space, before grabbing him by the hips and hoisting him up like it was nothing.

Gabe yelped, automatically reaching out to crawl in even as he hissed, "Give me a little _warning_ next time!"

"Sorry, no time!" Sam replied, "How is it?"

"It smells moldy, but I fit," he said, wrinkling his nose as his hand brushed against what felt like a cobweb. It was a good thing he didn't have an issue with spiders, "I feel like Harry Potter."

"That was a cupboard beneath the stairs," Sam said with a huff of laughter, and Gabe clucked his tongue as he pulled his knees up to his chin and turned slightly so he could rest his back in a corner.

"Same difference. I suppose this is payback for the janitor's cart, huh?"

"Shut up! You aren't supposed to make me laugh at a time like this!"

"I'm stalling so you won't shut the door on me," Gabe admitted, "It's pretty cramped up here."

He could only see the top half of Sam's face from his position, but the empathy was clear in his eyes.

"Hopefully it won't be long," he said, snaking a hand up to fumble for his own. Their fingers interlocked, and Gabe held on as best as he could, "Like, let's be honest; it's not like they'll arrest me-"

A brisk knock on the door cut him off, and Sam cursed before pulling his hand back, taking the small, warm comfort away.

"I'll be back. Don't let the dark stop you from reading that letter," he said, words pouring out in a rush as he shut the door. The last thing Gabe was were his eyes, fully alert and ready for what would no doubt be a dicey conversation with the authorities.

The cupboard door shutting wasn't quite the final hit for Gabe, but rather the heavier thud of the closet door closing. _Then_ he truly felt like he was in the dark, and while he wasn't scared of it (he hadn't been scared of the dark since he was 4), it certainly made him uneasy. It didn't help that spider webs always left him feeling itchy.

He recalled Sam's hurried words about the letter, but how was he supposed to read something he didn't have? He'd given it to him early on, unless…

Gabe felt along the bottom of the cupboard, grinning at nobody when his fingers slipped across paper.

_Sneaky Sam, _he thought, tugging out his cellphone to use as a meager light source as the Winchester opened the front door. _Very sneaky._

With a near-silent sigh of contentedness at the task he now had, Gabe settled back and began to read.

* * *

I'm sorry about how late this was posted guys. I'm currently dealing with some medical issues in the family ever since the year started, and balancing that with school hasn't been fun. Anyway, excuses aside, I do have some important news story-wise!

While I do have a clear end for this particular segment on the Chromaticity Series in mind, the plot stuff between Chapter 15 (which is what I've gotten up to) and the end is...vague at best. So, once I post Chapter 15, I'll take a break from this story to regroup, flesh plot out, and come back with a stronger game. Between my lack of an outline and the current life issues I'm tackling right now, I'm afraid Reactivity is going to go on the back burner for a bit.

I want to clarify that I'm not discontinuing this series, or even going on an extended hiatus. Just getting my writing together. If anyone has any concerns, hit me up in the reviews, or on Tumblr crossroads-consoul.


	14. Dead Man Walking

**Chapter 14: Dead Man Walking**

Throwing on the tired, confused college student mask was easy once Sam had shut the closet door. Looking as if he'd just woken up wasn't an issue when he was still shirtless. He made sure his school materials were properly scattered across the living room for appearance, and after a minute had passed after the initial knock, he went to open the door holding on to the hope he wouldn't be paraded out in handcuffs.

"Um, good morning?" he asked, tilting his head in pretend confusion as he took in the small group standing outside in the hall. He could pick out Jody and Donna in the back glaring at the three people in front of them with equal measures of irritation. The two FBI agents wore the dark suits of their trade, offsetting the gray pantsuit the domineering woman at the forefront wore. He'd never seen her before today, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out who _she_ was.

"Samuel Winchester?" Bela Talbot asked, voice perfectly pleasant and professional. Her aura was a marble swirl of ultramarine blue and hazel, the unusual color combo making her eyes stand out.

_The detective that kicked Gabe off the case and has been muddling things up from the start with bureaucracy. This should be fun._

"That's me," he confirmed, scratching his neck, "What's this all about?"

The man on the left, whose aura was so pale a gold it was nearly white, frowned and looked at his partner, an older, balding man who returned the loaded look behind Bela's back. The FBI agents, it seemed, weren't interested in him beyond superficial curiosity.

"My associates and I just want to ask you some questions," she said, pulling out her badge imperiously and raising her chin a bit as she flipped it open, "May we come in?"

Sam half shrugged, tugging the door open wider and gesturing for them to step in.

"Sure, Detective _Talbot_," he said pointedly, smiling just the slightest when the younger FBI agent smothered a laugh at Talbot's expression, "Can I get you guys anything?"

"No, this won't take long," the older FBI agent said authoritatively, brushing past Talbot to take the lead as Sam let them in. His aura brought to mind the color of wet ballpoint ink; a pale blue-green that exploded with sporadic splotches of dark gray at the edges. "We're just entertaining one of the LPD's little goose chases. Wrapping up loose ends, that sort of thing."

Sam arched an eyebrow, ignoring the flare of irritation in Talbot's aura as they all filed into his living room.

"Didn't know I was a loose end. Is this about The Crucifier? I already gave my statement about what happened in the WM."

He kept his eyes fixed within the living room, ignoring the itch crawling up his skin as he thought of Gabe curled up in the storage space not ten feet away from them all. His aura was beginning to seep out of the closet, and it was _distracting_ with all other auras he suddenly had to contend with.

"This is about a little more than that event," the younger FBI agent said before pulling out his badge, followed a split second later by his partner. "I'm Agent Arch, and this is my partner Agent Smith. We're part of the FBI team sent out to take over the serial killer case."

Sam nodded, ignoring the piercing look Talbot was now shooting him.

"Please, get settled. Sorry about all the stuff," he said with a sheepish chuckle, sweeping a couple of textbooks off the couch so Jody and Donna could sit, "Just because the campus is closed doesn't mean I get to slack on work."

"It must be unsettling, having to contend with another serial killer," Talbot said suddenly, striding towards the breakfast bar to settle onto a stool. The FBI agents in tandem to stand by the window, "Are you concerned?"

"Well, of course," Sam said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pajama pants and fixing a quizzical look at her, even as he seethed at her transparent reference to Yellow Eyes, "Pretty sure everyone in Lawrence is concerned."

That wasn't the sort of answer she was looking for, judging by her aura, but one of the FBI agents butted in.

"Well, the LPD seems to think you'd be _extra_ concerned," Agent Smith said, picking up where Talbot had left off with a long-suffering sigh, "Something about some nasty business that happened a while back with another serial killer?"

Donna winced on the couch, and Jody's lips pressed into a thin line as Sam turned to give him a sidelong look.

_So, he's going to be the pseudo bad cop, _he thought, eyes flicking to Agent Arch, whose face gave away how much he disapproved of the whole escapade. _And he's the good cop._

"Yellow Eyes? That was a really long time ago," Sam said, putting on an air of extreme confusion tinged by a pensive expression as he leaned against the wall, elbow brushing the TV. "I was just a baby, so I don't remember anything about it."

"Which is to be expected," Agent Arch said, slipping into the conversation before Talbot could get a word out, "I'd like to question you about the events that occurred at the WM library if that's alright. The LPD got their statement from you, but I'd like to hear about it from you directly. I find that going to the source when possible is much more fruitful than reading from files."

Sam studied Agent Arch closely. He looked to be a handful of years older than Gabe and Dean, with dark, swept-back hair and piercing green eyes that held a sharp intelligence that belied his affable manner. His aura, which Sam had pinned down as gold at the door, was actually less gold and more the color of bone, shot through with glittering shades of pale gold and icy frost blue.

Pale auras weren't very common, and neither were gold auras. Before Gabe, Sam had only ever seen a couple of gold auras in passing, and they'd never been as strong as the P.I's. Seeing such a pale, but intense aura now caught him off guard, but not for long.

"What do you want to know about it?" he asked slowly, tone measured.

"Oh honestly, this isn't what we're here for," Talbot grumbled, and Agent Smith shot her a glare from his side of the room.

"Detective Talbot, we might as well get _something_ out of this fool's errand," he bit out, seeming to be at his wit's end with her, "Mr. Winchester, please answer any questions Agent Arch has, while I talk with the LPD out in the hall."

He jerked his head at Jody and Donna, who only hesitated for a moment before standing. Donna shot him a concerned look, and Sam shook his head imperceptibly, offering a small smile to the two ladies. He'd be alright, and Gabe wouldn't be discovered anytime soon.

Talbot resisted at first but got up with a huff when Agent Smith paused in the entrance of the hall to glare at her. His watery aura churned threateningly, clashing against her marble aura in a manner so hostile that Sam was sure they'd already butted heads multiple times in the short amount of time they'd known each other.

His front door shut hard a moment later, and Sam turned his attention back to Agent Arch, who'd taken a seat in the armchair. The man gestured for him to sit on the couch, which he did, ignoring the creak of the springs beneath him.

"They seem to get along great," Sam remarked, referring to Talbot and Smith, and Arch smiled wryly.

"Fire and oil, those two," he said with a shake of his head, "I'm afraid my partner's grumpier than usual because of all this. He's gotten used to the desk life."

Sam nodded understandingly, and Agent Arch lightly slapped his hands against his thighs, getting himself back on track.

"Right. Well, I'm sorry for all this," he said, chuckling embarrassedly as he gestured vaguely, "I think it's evident inter-agency relations right now are, uh, pretty bad. I mean, you don't even have a shirt on!"

Arch, surprisingly, was genuinely _sorry_ for the interruption. It showed in the way his bone and frost aura churned.

_A truly nice person, _Sam thought, slightly awed, _Holy crap._

"It's alright," he said, waving off the man's concern as he internally freaked out, "If you think you can get anything useful from me, then you might as well go for it."

"I think I can," Arch said, aura shifting peculiarly as he pulled out a notebook from his inner jacket pocket, "It's my specialty."

The shift in the aura looked familiar, and after a moment it hit Sam in a burst of bright clarity. It had taken on a persuasive turn similar to the one Gabe's took when he got persuasive, and his gut twinged in warning as Arch fixed his eyes on him.

_I have to be careful with this guy, _he thought as Arch smiled and clicked a pen, _He's nice, and that nice nature is what makes him so dangerous._

Maybe it was John's teachings that had poisoned him against trusting naturally affable people, or maybe it was just his horrid experience with Jess, who had been so sweet in the beginning. Whatever it was, Sam kept a close eye on nice people, and he wouldn't treat Agent Arch any differently.

"Can you describe what the unsub looked like? I know it was dark and he had a hood pulled up, but any details you could provide would be helpful."

"Unsub?" Sam asked, caught off guard by the technical term before he nodded, "Oh right, the FBI doesn't like using the public monikers."

"Correct," Arch said approvingly, "Law student, right?"

"Yup. Getting there at least," he replied, gesturing to the wok piled on the coffee table, "But as for the "unsub" as you guys like to call him, I really didn't see much. The only notable thing I saw was the ring on his finger."

"Good catch by the way. Can you describe the ring to me? The description was pretty vague in the statement."

"The LPD wasn't really interested in it," Sam said, deciding that he'd get that one jab at the police department in. He had nothing against the good members of it, but overall, the LPD deserved it. "It was gold, with a big blue stone. Sapphire maybe? It was chunky and he wore it on his left hand."

He was going off of his visions as much as the memory of that day when describing it, but Arch didn't have to know that.

The agent nodded as he made his notes.

"Any other details like that you can recall?"

Sam shrugged, stretching an arm back to rest casually on the back of the couch.

"He wasn't big. Smaller than me for sure."

"I'm not sure if that's saying much," Arch said dryly, earning a snort of amusement from Sam.

"I guess not. He was definitely shorter than you," he said, gesturing at the agent, "What are you, 6ft?"

Arch nodded, and he hummed contemplatively as he remembered what he could of Death's physical appearance. Sam was so much more attuned to his aura now that what little he did know of his physical features seemed paltry in comparison.

Raised voices began to filter through his front door. One of them was Agent Smith for sure; the other female. Sam couldn't say for sure if it was Talbot, but chances were it probably was.

"Those two," Arch sighed, rubbing his temple with one long-fingered hand before focusing back on Sam, "So shorter than me?"

"Yeah, somewhere around 5'10 maybe," Sam confirmed, "Leaner too, and young. There's no way he's older than mid-twenties."

A ripple ran through Arch's aura, one of unease. Sam watched it appear with interest as the agent shifted in his seat slightly and grimaced.

"About that…are you positive that he's so young?"

"Fairly sure," Sam said slowly, "Why?"

Before Agent Arch could reply, his front door swung open so hard that the edge of it banged into the closet door.

They were immediately on their feet, and Sam bristled as he strode forward, ignoring the spitfire expression on Talbot's face as she stomped inside.

"For Christ's sake, watch the door! I'm not trying to lose my security deposit," he snapped, fixing a strong bitch face on both Talbot and Agent Smith, who was hot on her heels.

"Detective Talbot, could you please rein in your temper? I know this case is frustrating, but it doesn't do anyone good to take it out on the witness's property," Agent Arch added, brow furrowed as he pinned her with a look of disappointment.

An angry flush stained her face red, matching the odd red tinge that had taken over the hazel in her aura.

"Of course. My apologies," she muttered stiffly as Jody and Donna filed in.

"Jesus Bela," Jody murmured, shutting his poor front door as she let Donna go ahead of her, "Was the door at the station not enough for you or something?"

Talbot turned to glare at her, but Agent Smith was already striding forward into the living room.

"Where were we before we interrupted you?" he asked, cheeks spotted with red from his own anger. He looked exactly as if he wanted to go back to his cozy desk set up at whatever FBI branch office he'd come from.

"I was just having Mr. Winchester describe the unsub. He said he was young, barely in his twenties at most," Agent Arch said with a pointed look.

Smith made a face, and Talbot took it one step further by scoffing and crossing her arms.

"Young? No way," she said, shooting him a look that clearly said that she didn't put much stock in his claims, "That's not what the profile says."

"The _LPD's_ profile," Smith said distractedly, rubbing his chin. From behind him, Donna and Jody shot him loaded looks.

_Talbot believes in her profile, but the FBI generate their own, _he thought, looking between all the auras and using them to fill in the blanks, _And they're stuck between whether or not to believe what I say._

Sam grew a little more irritated at that. He wasn't interested in getting caught between the two agencies, especially when he was only telling the truth. It wasn't his problem if they decided to twist the information they gave him.

"He's in his late-twenties at minimum; this guy's too vicious and good at what he does to be any younger," Talbot continued, oblivious to the looks Jody and Donna were shooting at her, "You must be mistaken, Winchester."

"The other two witnesses said he was young though," Smith pointed out, but it seemed to be more to needle her than any firm belief he had on The Crucifier's age, "I don't think all three witnesses would mess that up."

"They were in shock, and the statements said that they were looking to Mr. Winchester here for support," Talbot said with a sneer, "They could've easily just followed his lead and parroted what he said."

"Kevin and Adam are both capable of thinking for themselves," Sam said, keeping his cool at the blatant disregard she had towards him, "Adam _chased_ the guy. If you don't believe me for whatever biased reason you have, then surely you'd have to believe the person that saw the killer the longest that day."

"I have no bias!" Talbot said defensively, and Sam scoffed.

"Yeah, sure. Because turning up on the doorstep of the guy that's probably the only person in Lawrence to come face to face with a serial killer twice with _five_ members of law enforcement with your suspicions isn't biased whatsoever."

He continued with narrowed eyes, cutting her off from making what would've no doubt retort with some scathing remark.

"I let you guys in because I was tired and hold a certain _respect_ for law enforcement," he said, leaving them to decide which way he really felt about them with his emphasis, "But you don't have the right to throw around baseless accusations, or the right to throw my door open willy nilly as you see fit. I don't need to remind you that you don't have a warrant, do I?"

The tension in the room rose just a bit at the w-word. Law enforcement always got so tetchy when they were mentioned, and Sam watched as Talbot floundered and Smith frowned.

"We don't need to come back with on, do we?" he asked at the same time Talbot finally managed to come up with, "Do you have something to _hide_?"

_Honestly, these two, _he thought exasperatedly as he fixed his attention on the agents, _I've got nothing to hide. _

He thought of the side work he'd been doing with Gabe, and then the P.I himself currently holed up in his closet, before promptly retracting that mental statement.

_Ok, only a _few_ things to hide that hold absolutely no importance to them!_

"You can stay, as long as you behave a little better and try to keep your bias in check," he said airily, spreading his hands slightly, "The choice is yours."

It was a gamble, and Gabe would bitch about the extra time spent hiding later, but Sam was curious to see how they would react. He wasn't nearly as familiar with how the FBI operated in comparison to the LPD, and he wanted to get a feel for how the agency would act now while they were in a setting he controlled. Better to take risks now in the home field than out in the treacherous waters that the leads inevitably steered them to.

A dark expression overtook Talbot's face, betraying her intense dislike of how the tables had turned. She had probably expected to waltz in and milk him dry of information he either did or didn't have and present herself as an invaluable asset to the FBI.

Agent Smith smiled dryly. He wasn't pleased with what he no doubt saw as insubordination (he looked old enough to think in those terms), but he liked how Sam had put Talbot in her place, and a grudging respect for that shone through his aura.

_The enemy of my enemy is my friend, _he thought, watching as Talbot moved to sit on her previous stool without a word of acknowledgment, _Good to know this is the work dynamic of the people currently tasked with catching a serial killer._

It made Sam feel a lot better about the progress that he and Gabe had made, and the tentative birth of a team with Dean and Cas at the diner last night. Their dynamic left much to be desired, but at least they were making strides towards civility.

"Your father must be proud. It's clear you're a lawyer in the making," Smith said blandly before sitting with a grunt, "At least I'll get some entertainment out of all this."

_In some alternate universe he'd probably be proud, _Sam thought wryly as everyone returned to something that resembled their original positions. This time though, Agent Smith took the armchair that Arch had vacated when he'd got up to respond to the thrown open door, settling in with a wheeze.

"Damned fieldwork," he muttered, rubbing his chest before pulling out his notebook. Arch looked on from his standing position next to him with no small amount of concern written on his face, "Alright, so let's just get this all out in the open instead of dancing around it. Your mother was the last victim of the serial killer referred to as "Yellow Eyes". We never got called in on that case, as policies were different 20 years ago regarding jurisdiction and authority and whatnot."

"Correct," Sam said slowly, letting his unsaid _so far _hang in between them.

"But now we have authority, and frankly, the connections you have to both cases make for a coincidence that doesn't sit right with some people," Smith continued, making a show of focusing on whatever notes he was making, "And frankly-'

"It's downright suspect!" Talbot interjected, arms crossed and lips pressed in an angry scowl.

"It's of no use to the case," Jody said, throwing her own opinion into the dogpile as she spoke up formally for the first time. Her forest green aura was swirling with righteous indignation now, making it clear she didn't agree with the conversational trail they were setting foot on, "Correlation doesn't equal causation. He's clearly not The Crucifier since we have multiple eyewitness testimonies from the library, not to mention the fact that he doesn't match either of your profiles at all!"

"Unsub," Arch corrected before they all descended into controlled chaos, leaving Sam gaping at the group.

_Do they really think_ I_ have something to do with The Crucifier?_

He shoved down the ludicrous urge to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all so he could scan their auras properly and get a feel for who felt what kind of way about the hare-brained theory.

Jody and Donna were not buying it whatsoever, already getting heated with Talbot, who seemed to wholeheartedly believe that at the very least, he was suspicious because of his past and his present actions. Agent Smith just gave off the sense of a tired, aging man who just wanted to retire. He opposed Talbot naturally due to her dislike of her, but his aura showed that he held the common belief of many law enforcement members that coincidences were typically anything but that.

The aura that surprised him most, however, was Agent Arch's. Despite the fact that they barely knew each other, the man seemed to have concluded that he was the furthest thing from serial killer material and looked to be about one step away from adding his own two cents of advocacy.

_Interesting indeed, _Sam thought, studying the way the bone-white shades comingled with the frosty streaks, _Who would've thought all that empathy would've survived FBI training?_

Then he tuned back into the actual physical words they were exchanging and couldn't hold back the desire to laugh any longer.

Heads turned to look at him as he lost it, his laughs hearty and loud enough to probably earn him a complaint from his neighbors. Sam didn't care though; the situation had quickly turned from semi-serious to something that he knew he'd have trouble recounting to Gabe later without snickering.

Sam knew that this was supposed to be serious and that the average person wouldn't act so capriciously with so many various law enforcement members in their living room, but dammit, he just couldn't help it. If this was supposed to scare him or intimidate him into revealing some Easter egg, then they were doing a piss poor job at it.

"I'm sorry-you really think_ I_ have something to do with all this? That I'm, what, this guy's _sidekick_ cause my mother was killed and I've never been the same since?" he asked as he struggled to catch his breath, clutching his ribs. Some of his laughter probably came from the stress ball he'd been carrying in his chest for the past few weeks, but that was neither here nor there.

Talbot's face said that, yes, she thought it was a perfectly reasonable concept, which only made Sam wheeze as she replied through gritted teeth.

"It must've been a traumatic event. Such things can-_affect_ people," she said, looking him up and down with a gaze that said his laughter had just solidified his suspiciousness.

"I wasn't even a year old. Hell, I was barely _half_ that," Sam replied, wiping at his eyes and gesturing to the FBI agents in the far corner, "These guys will be the first to tell you that that's way too young for anything to stick with me."

Everyone turned to look at the FBI agents, awaiting their input on the subject.

Agent Smith shifted in his armchair enough to make it creak. His grimace said it all, but Agent Arch was the one to speak.

"Mr. Winchester's right," he said, continuing on through Talbot's sound of disbelief, "While young children are extremely impressionable, there is a point where they are _too_ young for such things. Considering the details known of the event and the fact that he was six months old, the only thing that would've registered for him was the cold and probably hunger."

"You sound like you've read the case file," Sam remarked.

"Detective Talbot brought it to our attention when we first arrived," Arch said slowly, wary of seemingly angering him, "Of course, considering there's just about no similarities between these two serial killers, I didn't see the point."

He shot a glare more heated than Sam expected towards Talbot, who held his gaze for a moment before looking away.

"I'm rather glad you've called us in actually," Arch continued boldly, an irritated look crossing his face for a brief moment before it was replaced by a more professional mask, "Serial killers are very hard for local police departments to handle."

Sam held in his impressed whistle at the undercurrent of frostiness in his otherwise pleasant tone of voice. Agent Arch, it appeared, was perfectly capable of following up his bark with a bite.

"Now, now, let's all try to relax here," Agent Smith said in an extremely disingenuous, unhelpful manner, "Let's not make things worse than they already are between us."

"You make up a good portion of the problem," Talbot muttered, and with that, they descended right back into heated squabbling that was quickly growing ridiculous.

Sam rolled his eyes as he was once more forgotten in the face of inter-agency hostilities and decided that now would be a good time as any to make himself some coffee and throw a shirt on.

_No wonder John and Dean loathe law enforcement._

He managed to get a shirt on and his coffee machine halfway through the process before Talbot realized he had gone into the kitchen. Her aura swirled with brief surprise, and Sam relished being able to spook her just a bit. He was quickly beginning to dislike her.

She turned in her seat and pinned him with a calculating stare, rapping her nails on his counter. Up close, he could see that despite looking overworked, she was pretty in a way that he knew would've interested his brother once upon a time.

"Got tired of walking around shirtless?" she asked. She didn't sound like she was trying to lead him on into another topic; if anything, it sounded perfectly normal.

Sam kept one watchful eye on her aura to track her intentions (if he had the ability he might as well make use of it), while he kept the other on the filling coffee pot.

"I figured since I'm in the presence of law enforcement I should put my pecs away," he replied sassily.

Talbot actually snorted at that before looking betrayed at her reaction. Sam wisely hid his smirk as she cleared her throat.

"What's up with the tattoo?" she asked, nodding at his chest.

Her aura didn't reveal any dishonest intentions behind her question save for procedural curiosity that she probably displayed a lot while working. Sam was left to wonder at the 180-degree mood shift, replying carefully as he waited for his coffee.

"Just something me and my brother share."

"Hmm," she hummed, her nails pausing in their rhythmic tapping, "You're not anything like I imagined."

Sam arched an eyebrow questioningly as she flushed with embarrassment.

"I'm aware of your…brother," she muttered, eyes darting to the side before returning to his face, "He's…quite the character."

Her aura rippled in a telling way that Sam didn't want to see, and he held back a groan as he turned to the completed coffee. No wonder she'd asked about his tattoo.

_Damn it, Dean, _he thought furiously, nearly spilling the scalding beverage on his hand in his hurry to pour it, _When you said you knew of Talbot, you didn't say that you'd hooked up with her!_

After mentally raging at Dean for a few more seconds, he turned around with what he knew was a perfectly maintained, if marginally suspicious look on his face.

"Let me guess. You hooked up with him, wanted maybe more than one night, and when he did his whole 'I don't do commitment' spiel, you got bitter," he said bluntly, dragging it all out into the air, "Or maybe you found out about his record? Either way, it didn't end well."

Talbot's cheeks grew even redder as she scowled at him, but she didn't deny any of it.

Sam sighed, rubbing his temple where a headache was beginning to form. Things made a lot more sense now that he had some context for Talbot's unreasonable hostility, but really, why was it that he always had to get caught up in the backlash of Dean's idiocy? It was like high school all over again.

"Of course. It was probably the record. You seem like you'd care about something like that," he muttered, taking a long sip of coffee. Dean had one count of assault on the books from when he was 18, but it had never gone anywhere since Mayhem Arena had subtly stepped in and taken care of it. No way would they have let anything happen to their star moneymaker.

"Wouldn't you?" she asked, and Sam blinked before shrugging.

"Maybe, maybe not. Point is, you don't gotta take it out on _me_. You guys must've hooked up ages ago."

"It wasn't _that_ long ago," she hissed defensively, but her aura gave her away.

"Mhmm," Sam hummed, unconvinced, "I may not be like my brother, but I'm still pretty damn close to him. If it makes you feel any better, you're not the first he's done that too."

Sam wasn't proud of the way Dean handled relationships (he'd been especially upset when he'd first found out that he and Lisa were splitting), but he couldn't blame his brother too much for it. The way they'd been raised just about ensured that the relationships they had would be less than typical, but sometimes, Dean could just be a straight-up asshole.

"I guess," Talbot groused, deflating like a hot air balloon as the last of her irrational aggression towards him faded away, "I just-ugh, it's been a _long_ week."

She rubbed her face tiredly, and for the first time since she'd shown up at his door, Sam started to feel some empathy for her. Sure, she had been a straight-up bitch, and she definitely didn't come off as the easiest person to work with, but he could relate to feeling worn out by the case.

"This whole situation is highly irregular," she said, frowning as she seemed to realize the whole snafu she'd brought upon him.

"Yup," Sam replied helpfully, "If you leave now, you can probably scrape together enough pride to keep the FBI from kicking you off the taskforce."

He nodded to the FBI agents now muttering amongst themselves across the living room. He wasn't sure why he'd decided to throw her a bone. He couldn't be certain if it was the wisest course to do so when Talbot was this hard to deal with, but the best reasoning he could come up with was that the devil you knew was better than the one you didn't.

_Gabe's familiar enough with her, as well as Jody and Donna, _he thought, looking at the ladies shooting him concerned looks from the couch.

Sam shot them a reassuring smile, and their ruffled auras settled down. Honestly, those two were more mother hen like than he'd originally pegged them for. He appreciated their presence and knew that it must've been no easy feat to worm their way into this endeavor, since Jody very clearly didn't like Talbot.

"How would you know how the FBI works?" she asked, eyes narrowed.

"Aspiring law student, remember?" he replied smoothly, tamping down the urge to reveal that he knew Gabe and was more than aware of the animosity between them.

_And that you kicked him off the case._

He was still irked at her for that, but he wasn't as mad at her as he once was. The truth was, her dismissal of him had led them down a whole new path that Sam was enjoying very much, even if it made some things harder than they had to be.

"Right," she said slowly, "But you have a point."

She stood crisply just after the FBI agents did. It appeared as if they'd come to the decision that he had nothing to do with The Crucifier in a criminal capacity. Arch gave Talbot a wide berth as he came over, extending his hand over the counter.

"It was good to meet you, Mr. Winchester, despite the circumstances," he said, flashing him a pearly white and completely genuine smile, "If you have any questions or information for us, please don't hesitate to call."

He slipped him the usual FBI card, and the rest of the departures were conducted from there. Agent Smith grudgingly gave him his own, and Talbot shot him one final look that was loaded with a lot less suspicion than it had when she'd walked in.

Sam managed to herd them all out of his door with reasonable speed, nearly collapsing with relief against it when they _finally_ left. Honestly, at one point he'd thought he'd never be rid of them.

A glance down at the FBI cards revealed that Agent Arch's first name was Michael and that Agent Smith's was Zachariah. Sam decided that Michael suited the former agent better than Zachariah fit the latter.

He exhaled hard enough to make his fringe flutter a bit before he moved towards the closet, a sudden bolt of anxiousness turning his stomach as he opened the door. Gabe had been in there for a long time, and while the trace amounts of his aura that had poured through the cracks showed he was alright, Sam couldn't help but be concerned.

"You ok in there?" he asked as he opened the door.

"Peachy keen," Gabe replied dryly, kicking out his feet to stretch his legs as soon as the door was open enough, "What did you do, serve them a four-course meal?"

"Sorry," Sam said, deftly ducking one of the P.I's awry feet, "They were very persistent. Do you know Talbot was half convinced I was The Crucifier's sidekick? But I think that was mostly due to her hating the fact that I'm Dean's brother."

"_What_?"

Sam got Gabe down first before he retold the events that had occurred. The man's aura fluctuated as expected, going from a livid, fiery red at Talbot's antics to a disbelieving pastel hue of lime green when Sam explained how Dean tied into all of it.

"Your brother has no sense of self-preservation, does he?" he asked incredulously.

"Apparently not," Sam, rubbing his temples, "God, a _detective_?"

"It is pretty ironic," Gabe mused, "But in a really bad way of course!"

Sam snorted softly at the P.I's quick attempts at reassurance before pulling out the FBI cards.

"I also got these, so that's great," he said, tossing them onto the coffee table, "You should've seen the way Agent Smith interacted with Talbot; I wasn't sure who would tear off whose head first."

"Yikes," Gabe winced, "Bela's never been good at playing well with others. The FBI coming in is probably a big dent to her pride. I'm not surprised she lashed out at you."

"Still makes it pretty sucky," Sam said, flopping back onto the couch with a great big thud to tilt his head up towards the ceiling, "It's weird to think that the department's pulled up the Yellow Eyes case and my name's back out there in people's minds, even if it's just the LPD."

His eyes traced the faint spiderweb cracks in the ceiling and remained there when a familiar hand clasped his.

"I'm sorry kiddo," Gabe said softly.

Sam turned his head, lips quirking in an accepting smile as he tightened his grasp on Gabe's hand.

"It's alright. It's inevitable since the news always likes to throw Yellow Eyes into the reports nowadays," he replied, "They're milking this for all its worth."

He hadn't caught much of the news since the case had begun, but he'd hear snippets of it every so often, either on TVs he walked past or on the rare occasion his own TV was tuned to the news. Just about every time they were covering the case, or somehow managed to work their way back to the case.

"They really are. Who know reporters were so…vicious here?" Gabe asked, and Sam frowned.

"Have some personal experience?"

The P.I shrugged casually, even as his aura rippled with distaste.

"That night Olsen was killed, the reporters arrived extremely quickly. I ran into a couple, and…let's just say it wasn't very pleasant."

"But forget about that!" he exclaimed, letting go of his hand and reaching into his jacket, "You need to read this. It's serious."

Sam took the letter with interest, unfolding it and skimming it, which wasn't hard to do since it was barely half a page long.

_S.W_

_The timetable for the distribution of demon blood is moving up. What looked like early summer is now looking like spring, really a matter of weeks at this point. Everyone is in a frenzy over it too. I don't know why it's moved up, but if I had to take a guess the guy behind the drug wants to take advantage of the chaos right now._

_The Arena now wants a piece of the pie too. The King thinks it'll make a good steroid to juice his fighters up, but I don't think it'll go well. _

_The Dead Eyes are falling apart. Too many are hooked on the drug, and it's making the half of the gangs that _aren't_ on the drug wary. There's massive profit in it, but the risk is insane. It's a miracle the LPD hasn't picked up on the drug's presence yet. A few people have already died from it._

_If you're ballsy enough to go past the Parallel now, be careful. I'm still with B right now, but I'm thinking of leaving before everything explodes._

_-M_

Sam ran a hand over his face, studying the scrawled handwriting as he absorbed the information Meg had given him. This…wasn't good. She'd confirmed what Dean had said last night about Crowley, but he hadn't expected the part about the timetable moving up at all.

A finger poked his cheek, drawing him from his thoughts before he could try to piece together the puzzle.

"Hey, no zoning out on me," Gabe said, crossing his arms and fixing him with an 'I-didn't-sit-in-a-storage-space-for-a-hour-puzzling-over-this-for-nothing' look.

"Gang war looks like it'll be any day now. Dean's going to have a tough time in Mayhem Arena," Sam said, running his hand over his face.

"How so?"

"Mayhem Arena is like the Switzerland of the crime world," Sam explained, tossing the letter onto the coffee table, "But gangs sometimes like to pitch pseudo fights there. Gang A will put a member up to fight against Gang B, and while Crowley usually regulates it, those sorts of fights draw in money."

"But danger too. People get riled up," Gabe said, beginning to understand.

"Dean's a known neutral figure with no gang affiliations, and he has a lot of respect there, but it'll still be tough. I'm not sure if Crowley's greed or desire to keep things tidy will win out right now."

Sam had the foreboding sense that greed might win out. If Crowley was so interested in demon blood to give his fighters an edge, then why would he stop at letting the gangs letting their representatives duke it out in his territory?

"Maybe we should meet with Meg," Gabe suggested.

"No, not right now. Something's changed, and she's not telling us," Sam said, watching the last of her aura curl off of the page and into the air, "She might think it's too dangerous for us."

"How can you tell?"

"The way it was delivered. She got Kevin to deliver the first one, but it's clear she got someone else to do it this time," Sam explained, "Probably Benny. Kevin's still a kid, and she would only let him take so much risk."

"But what could she not be telling us? She seems to have been pretty forthcoming so far."

Sam snorted, tossing the letter onto the table, "Yeah, but that's the problem. Meg is only as forthcoming as she thinks is necessary. She always makes sure to hold some cards to her chest."

Gabe frowned, and Sam sighed.

"Meg is…a character. I can tell she's helping right now, but she's always got a backup, and she's got a bloodhound's nose when it comes to danger. Right now, she's close to some risk, and this is the highest she's raising her head for us before she goes back to hiding out in the sand."

"So, no visiting," Gabe said decisively, and Sam nodded.

"I'll have to let Cas know. Maybe those two can have a reunion before Meg ultimately dips from Lawrence."

"With Benny?"

Gabe's tone made Sam roll his eyes before elbowing him.

"You're such a romantic."

"Am not! I just think it's very gallant of Benny to not only take Meg in but to also potentially run off with her into the sunset!"

"_Gallant_?"

Gabe huffed, and Sam slung an arm around his shoulders before he could get too worked up. His aura was shifting towards orange but changed to happier hues of yellow and peach as he pulled him in close.

"Call Cas now to let him know. I don't want him huffing and puffing at me again," Sam shuddered.

"Oh, terrified of Mr. Academia now?" Gabe teased.

"Just call him," Sam said, twirling a finger through one of the curls on the back of Gabe's neck.

His boldness rewarded him with a rosier aura and prompt action on making the phone call. Luckily, Cas was one of the few people Sam knew that consistently answered their phone (unless it was just with them; he had a feeling the statement not might hold true in other instances), and he understood that the circumstances surrounding the second letter might lessen his chance of meeting with Meg.

"I just want to see her one more time before she leaves, if she does leave," he said wistfully, "We parted on less than good terms, but I want her to know that I've always considered her my best friend."

"That's so _sweet_ Cassie," Gabe cooed, and Cas huffed.

"I'm sure you and Sam have a very similar, if not deeper bond. Should I call you sweet in return?"

"Not if it'll make your boyfriend angry. He's not around, is he?"

There was a long pause on the line, and Sam had to stifle a snicker at Gabe's expectant expression. Honestly, he enjoyed poking bears with sticks way too much for it to be healthy.

"Dean, who is _not_ my _boyfriend_, is not here at the moment," Cas said curtly before his voice lost the edge, "I think he's working at Bobby's today."

"Well, that's nice for once," Sam quipped, and Cas hummed.

"Indeed. I don't have to patch him up for once. Oh, and Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you for being there for Meg. She must've considered you a friend to entrust you with these letters."

Cas' words left Sam pondering. He didn't think Meg had ever seen him as anything more than a coworker (a preferred coworker to slog through a shift with, but a coworker nonetheless), but maybe Cas had a point. There had been several points before he'd helped her ditch her abusive boyfriend that they'd helped each other. Before her car broke down, she'd give him rides now and then, and Sam had given her some of his old CDs. Like Gabe, she'd had a prolific collection, though it tended to steer more towards heavy metal than cheesy 80s stuff.

_Maybe she did consider me a friend._

Gabe left shortly after receiving a call from Jody. It was all hands on deck down at the LPD sorting through calls put through a hotline they'd set up for tips on The Crucifier, and the plan was that in all the work chaos Gabe could be slipped some more files.

"Hopefully nothing happens tonight," he said as Sam walked him to the door, "At the rate he's killing…"

"But he can't reach Hoffman, right? He's guarded better than Fort Knox right now," Sam said, trying to ignore his gut. It was twinging enough that he had his doubts, but if Gabe thought Hoffman would be alright, then surely The Crucifier wouldn't get him.

A shadow crossed Gabe's face, and Sam's gut stirred harder as the P.I paused in the doorframe.

"I don't know. He's a pretty determined guy," Gabe hedged, rubbing his jaw, "If he's insistent upon keeping the kill order, and if we're right about Hoffman being next in this supposed kill order, then theoretically he'd stay on it like a dog with a bone. Who knows what he'd do to get Hoffman?"

_Anything._

The word hung unsaid between them before Gabe shook his head and stepped forward, wrapping his arms around his waist.

"Try not to worry about it too much kiddo."

"I'll try," Sam said, squeezing him back.

His gut was telling him otherwise, and it plagued him for the rest of the day. Hoffman was currently under heavy-duty LPD protection, and no one would believe him if he tried to say that the poor guy was going to be killed tonight for certain.

Frustration overwhelmed him at the futility of the situation. He'd never liked Hoffman, but that didn't mean he deserved to be _slaughtered_. Maybe they could move him out of the city using the FBI's resources and put him in Witness Protection or something.

"If they weren't too busy squabbling over who got what in the case," Sam muttered as he threw himself into his homework.

No matter what Sam thought of, there was no viable solution. He grudgingly had to concede that everyone was doing their best now, and the best was all they could do.

For the first time in years, Sam went to bed early, using breathing exercises he barely used nowadays to lull himself to sleep. There was only so much distraction that homework and household chores provided, and Sam had the sneaking suspicion that he'd be awoken in the middle of the night by the call that The Crucifier had struck.

Hoffman was a dead man walking, and there was nothing he could do about it.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Yeah you bet I threw Michael in there! Finally got to introduce him now that the FBI are involved. He'll be a way bigger figure than Zachariah just fyi.

Thank you for all the support by the way. It really means a lot! I'll get Chapter 15 up, and then take a break from Reactivity for a while and work on other stuff. One-shots, short stuff like that. I won't disappear off the face of the earth, I promise! I'll just be putting out different stuff and exploring ideas.

Also brace yourself because the next chapter is going to be a doozy. So hang in there!


	15. The Answer

**Chapter 15: The Answer**

There was something off about the building in front of Sam.

He half-recognized it as one of the buildings students flocked to for cheap housing off-campus. It was dreary, with little going for it in the way of aesthetics. The taller buildings around cast it into shadow, pushing it even further back from the street. What was probably supposed to look unassuming and forgettable ended up looking foreboding, as if whatever within it that was ringing warning bells in his head was crouched in waiting, its presence suffusing the whole building.

Sam didn't want to go in. The sky was blood red above him, and the susurrus of the dry grass reminded him of the hushed, chittering noises locusts made. It was an alien environment that didn't belong in Lawrence, but here it was anyway.

But he couldn't turn around. His mind was heavy with a thick, syrupy feeling that extended down to his limbs, rendering them unwilling to bend to his will. An imaginary rope tied around his middle was tugging him forward, and he followed it, right down the cracked walkway and into the foreboding lobby.

Someone, or something, wanted him to go inside.

_Come in._

The words whispered around his ears like acrid smoke, only a trace of something human in the tone.

_Come in._

Shadows writhed in the darkest corners of the lobby, watching him with eyes that he couldn't see and gnashing teeth he could only hear. The smell of blood strengthened, coming from somewhere above his head. The water-stained ceiling seemed to groan with the weight of it.

Sam couldn't forget about the rope. It cinched tighter, dragging at the very pit of his stomach as he tried to dig his heels in and resist. Cold sweat broke out over his skin as he leaned back, swaying against the invisible force manipulating him.

For a second, he thought it might work. In these strange dreams, he had learned how to make things work for him because ultimately, this was all in his head. Sam could feel the imaginary rope creak with stress.

The person holding the other end was persistent though. Sam abruptly snapped up to attention as the syrupy feeling thickened in his mind, pressing him down into submission and muting the various alarm bells wailing in his head for him to _turn away and run as fast as you can _until they were nothing but faint jingles, like wind chimes in the breeze.

_I win._

In the lobby, the shadows chuckled, the sounds wet like gore and dry like bone al at once, overlapping until the sound blended into one monstrous orchestra.

There was nothing wrong. All he had to do was go in and see what had been left for the city as a gift.

_Good. Come in._

Sam obliged, a hand that he barely recognized as belonging to him pressing buttons he didn't know he needed to press as he entered the elevator and left the formless shadows behind.

It didn't escape his limited notice that he wasn't younger here in this dream-vision. The observation registered in a dreamy, dazed way, the thought flitting across his mind before falling away like it never happened.

_I want you to see it. Come see what I've done._

The doors dinged open precisely after the last overlapping, terrible voice in his head spoke, as if everything in the building bowed to his command.

Blood decorated the hallway he stepped out into. An arc here, drops there. It was dim and muted gray-green, but the blood stood out candy red as if someone had skewed the saturation in the building. Sam drifted past the macabre paintings across the walls, his feet carrying him to a half ajar door.

_Come in here._

Beneath his feet, the floor shuddered, as if trying to pitch him forward faster. He could hear more shadows inside, just as sinister as their companions downstairs.

The voice was growing more anticipatory now, rising in pitch as it mentally breathed down his neck.

_Come in…_

He tried to stop his hand because he did _not want to see what was inside_, but it didn't listen to him.

A faint exhale escaped him, the only sign of the intense struggle he was now putting up in his mind.

_Comeincomeincomeincomein-_

Sam continued to reach out despite not wanting to, further and further as the walls rose above him, as if ready to swallow him whole when he stepped in-

"Ow!"

The sizzle of the doorknob was completely unexpected, searing right through the heavy feeling clouding his head. Sam stumbled back, instinctively clutching his hand as the door rattled in its frame before stilling.

In his head, the voice hissed with dissatisfaction before fading.

"Don't go in."

Sam whipped his head around, squinting down the hall. There was someone there, but not anyone unfamiliar. The voice was hard to place with the way the walls absorbed and reflected sound, but he knew for sure it wasn't that warbling voice that had been in his head.

"Who's there?" he asked, relieved that he could use his voice now, but aghast to hear that it was crackly and higher pitched. He was eleven again.

"Honestly, you don't even recognize your own brother?"

Young Dean stepped out of the shadows, leather jacket almost black in the bad light and hanging off of his frame as if he was little more than a scarecrow. His aura had shrunk, wound tightly around him like a serpent. Sam was horrified to find that the closer he got, the more the comparison fit.

He looked worse for wear; nothing like the fresh-faced and idyllic version of him that walked with fragile flowers and fell in love with the ocean. His skin was taut over his bones, lips faded and chapped as they tried to smile reassuringly at him. This Dean looked sick, or as if he was undergoing an immense struggle.

"Not Dean," Sam said automatically, and not-Dean pulled a face.

"I'm more Dean than I was last time," he said cryptically, shoving his hands into his pockets, "But not quite. This whole thing is tricky."

"You're not making any sense," Sam said, unable to think of anything else to say, and not-Dean (mostly Dean? What did he even call him?) sighed.

"Doesn't matter. What matters is getting you out of here," he said sharply, green eyes cutting to the door.

"Why? Isn't it just…another crime scene?" he asked, trailing off as he tried to put a name to it. It reminded him of the well in a way, but unlike the creepy well vision where he'd seen Olsen, this felt more solid.

Something skimmed across the floor by Dean's (hell, he might as well just call him Dean) feet, and Sam looked down to see a few paltry vines curling around his boots, the flowers at the ends just buds.

"No. this is different," Dean corrected, a muscle in his jaw jumping as his eyes watched the door warily, "Something is trying to drag you here. Something _bad_. Your body is trying to catch up to your mind."

Sam processed what Dean was trying to say for one long second before the realization slammed into him.

"Oh-oh _shit_. Am I sleepwalking? Walking over _here_?"

"There's currently an attempt," he replied dryly before flashing a smile Sam was familiar with.

It was the kind of smile where Dean bared his teeth at whatever wolves were bothering Sam, the loyal older brother until the end.

"We're stronger than that," he said as the door began to move backward away from him, the distance increasing to defy physics like the halls of a funhouse, "He won't get you when _I'm_ around."

He reached out a hand, and Sam took it before he could even properly think about it. He wasn't sure whose hand he was taking; a fractured bit of his subconscious or some odd memory-like version of Dean, but in a way, it was his brother. And he trusted Dean.

Their surroundings melted around them, swirling around and around until Sam was sure his brains would fly out of his skull. He thought he could hear something scream in fury but couldn't be sure; he didn't _want_ to be sure.

Sam's feet touched solid ground first, and then the rest of his body followed in a dizzying rush that left him collapsing against a chain-link fence.

Dean didn't fare any better. He crumpled to the ground in a heap, arms flung out in an arc as vines shriveled around his ankles.

"Ugh…Dean?" Sam asked, alarmed at the way his brother's usually vibrant aura flickered like a dying candle.

"M'fine Sammy," Dean muttered, rolling onto his side and squinting up at him.

Sam flinched back. Dean was ghostly pale, fading away at the edges like it'd taken everything he had to get him out the building.

"Go inside…it's safe. Before he comes," Dean whispered, pushing himself up on an elbow and pointing past Sam, "Go…now!"

Sam turned and shoved down the multitude of emotions that arose at the sight of his old childhood home.

_Do I have to?_

A rustling down the street said that yes, he really had to. Sam glanced down to see a heaving mass of shadow pouring down the block like a dark fog, bringing with it dread and pain and anger.

"Dean, I-Dean?"

Dean was just about gone. He mouthed something at him; Sam couldn't make out what, but he saw a regretful face before he completely faded out. He hadn't wanted to do it like this, but he had, and now Sam had to continue on.

Sam stared at the spot he'd been, then looked once more at the fog creeping towards him, before running down the walkway that lead up to the place he'd swore he'd never return too.

…

"-yes, but what am I supposed to do besides make sure he doesn't hurt himself?"

Sam blinked hard once, clearing his mind and returning to the present in an unpleasant rush as he realized where he was.

The living room of his old home was much cleaner than the last time he remembered. Before there had been beer bottles scattered about profusely, one or two littering every flat surface available no matter how often he cleaned up. Now though, the coffee table and mantle and even the windowsills were clear. The only alcohol he could spot was a single beer can on the small side table by John's old armchair.

John himself was standing in the doorway that connected the living room to the kitchen, his back turned to him as he talked with someone on the ancient landline. His fingers tugged and twisted the cord, an old nervous habit he'd had as long as Sam could remember.

Sam held still, not wanting to attract his father's attention. He hadn't seen him properly for almost 2 years at this point. The Christmas visit this past year that Lisa had forced him on didn't count, not when he'd only come for 5 minutes for Ben's sake and never uttered a word to John.

"I _know_ I'm not supposed to wake him, but he's shivering up a storm in my living room and you can't tell me-"

He turned, ready to continue his tirade at whoever was on the other end (it couldn't be 911; John would rather die than call them) before abruptly trailing off.

Sam shivered, not daring to move. Now that he was completely out of the vision, he could feel the rainwater dripping off of the best coat he owned, puddling on the long-worn hardwood floor beneath his boots.

"You're awake," John said simply, momentarily abandoning the call to speak to him.

There was a hole in one of the socks he'd put on. Sam could feel how cold the toe was and looked down to see that he hadn't laced up his boots properly.

_I dressed in a rush, then made my way out here, in the rain._

He wondered how he'd done it. Had he walked? Taken the subway?

"Sam?"

"Don't talk to me," he said immediately, still looking down at his boots before fumbling through his pockets.

No phone. His student ID was jammed in the inner pocket, where he knew he'd left it the last time he'd worn this coat. His wallet was in his back pocket, with nothing missing.

"Yeah, he snapped out of it on his own. Sam, look at me."

"I said don't talk to me," Sam hissed, scrabbling for some kind of recognition, something to latch onto even though he knew whatever method he'd taken to get here was a smooth, blank space in his mind. Spiraling dream transport courtesy of not-Dean didn't count.

_Why did he take me here anyway? _

"Sam, just calm down…"

John took a step forward, and Sam took three steps back with his fists raised before his back even hit the wall.

Something fell behind him, a picture maybe. Sam didn't think John had left many up, but the sound of glass breaking said that maybe he had. He didn't know; he was too busy shaking from cold and keeping a wary eye on his father, who'd halted in his tracks.

It was hard to read his aura; the only light on was the kitchen's (a direct contradiction to the dream version of the house) and John's aura blended in with the earthy tones of the living room. In the light, Sam knew that it was a burnt sienna sort of color, intercepted with lightning strikes of oranges and reds a bit like a tiger stone.

Here though, it looked faded and gray, like the winter-bark of trees. There was no trace of the swatches of red and blooms of wavery purples that showed he was drunk, or the faded blue-purple that he was hungover. It was just a pathetic shadow of his aura.

"I don't want any trouble," Sam said, lowering his fists slightly as he realized that John wasn't going to come any closer, "I'm going."

"You don't have to go."

Sam snorted, one hand fumbling for the doorknob behind him.

"What a change in sentiment. I don't need your help," he spat before finally getting the door open.

John's face changed, and he dropped the phone to reach out to him.

"Wait! Sam, don't, it's pouring out there!"

His words fell on deaf ears; Sam was already halfway down the walkway, not even bothering to attempt to open the gate as he leaped over it and bolted into the night.

Wind pelted rain into his face, soaking him down to the bone, but he didn't care. Sam just wanted to get away and go home, where he could process what had happened on his own without having to deal with facing his father and putting up with whatever meddling attempts, he could potentially take.

He didn't want to think about the fact that John had been sober, or that it seemed as if he was trying to help. He didn't want to think about how every shadow looked as if it was out to get him now, or how terrified he was that something might jump out at him and drag him back to the mystery building in his head.

Sam just ran. He ran until his feet told him to quit before they fell off and his lungs gasped for breath, and then he ran past that point.

He quit halfway down a street, stumbling beneath an awning and doubling over, hands on his knees and legs burning. Water sluiced down his face, dripping from his hair and down into his collar and sparking new rounds of shivers down his spine.

It was a bad idea, running in freezing rain like this. Sam knew it, but logic had evaded him, and now he was stuck out in the open, with no phone and no idea of where he was.

"Fuck," he gasped, running his hands down his face and pressing his palms hard into his cheeks before straightening.

It took him a while to orient himself, and a while longer of darting from rooftop to covered bus stop to business awning to make his way to a subway station, only to find that he was currently trudging through the scant wee hours of late night/early morning where the trains were on limited runs. None of those runs went to East Center, and none even came close to this specific station. They'd open properly for business at 5, which wasn't for a while yet.

"Dammit," he muttered, shaking the turnstile before stalking back the way he came.

He did have his wallet, and there was a functional payphone, however odd it looked, that he could use. The question was, who could he call?

Sam stood in front of it for several minutes, running through the options in his head in the dim, half-lit station. A homeless man curled up in an alcove twitched in his sleep, the sole boot of his he could see scuffing on the floor.

"I don't want to bother anyone," he muttered, shaking imperceptibly as his wet clothes began to make their presence know.

In the end, he dialed Dean's home number. He had a home phone he kept for his "normal life"; the life where he was Ben's dad and worked at Bobby's. Sam hadn't been keeping up with his burner numbers, and his usual cell was most likely dead.

"Hello?"

The voice was gravelly and most certainly not Dean's. Sam's heart skipped a beat as he realized that he now had to potentially explain the whole situation to Cas of all people.

He needed a ride though, and really, the more he thought about it, the more this worked out. Cas wouldn't ask too many questions, and the ones he did Sam could easily fend off.

"Hi Cas," he said quietly, clearing his throat and hunching over the phone, "I, uh, need a ride."

There was a brief pause, no more than a few seconds, before, "Where are you?"

Sam gave the station he was at, and Cas hummed, the scritch of pencil on paper audible over the tinny audio of the phone.

"I'll be there soon."

That was it. Sam looked at the phone blaring out a dial tone blankly for a second before putting it back up on its hook and sitting against the wall to wait.

He didn't have to wait too long. The station he'd run to was in the southeast section of Lawrence, and Dean's place wasn't too far. If it hadn't been 3 in the morning and raining, he would've made his way over there.

Quick footsteps echoed down the main stairwell. Sam raised his head to see Cas hurrying down, trench coat flaring behind him like a cape, eyes roving around the dim station. His aura was a brilliant blue, the brightest spot in the station, and Sam felt himself relax minutely as the calming waves of cerulean flowed out towards him.

"Sam. There you are," Cas mumbled, striding towards him with an outstretched hand that Sam gladly took. After sitting for so long, the wave of exhaustion had hit him like a train, and all he wanted to do was sleep.

"Thanks for coming," he said, to which Cas waved him off.

"It's no problem. I was up anyway doing work. We should hurry though; Ben's in the car," he said, taking the stairs two at a time.

Sam blinked, unsure if he'd heard him right before deciding that he had, leading to him picking up the pace as well.

"Ben? What's he doing with you?"

"He woke up from a nightmare and insisted he come," Cas said, brow creased with concern as they emerged topside, "I don't know how, but he somehow knew you were in trouble. Dean's passed out asleep, and I didn't feel comfortable leaving him when he was so upset, so…"

He trailed off, looking supremely uncomfortable. At some point, the rain had stopped, leaving them in a crisp and clear city street. The Impala was parked up against the curb (illegally, Sam noted), and in the passenger seat he could make out a child-sized cocoon of blankets curled up in the fire engine red car seat.

"Don't worry Cas. I'll take care of Ben. You just drive," Sam said, clapping him on the shoulder before striding towards the car.

All the achy tiredness and confusion of sleepwalking was set to the side as he opened the passenger door and crouched down, trying his best to look ok for the sniffling child inside.

"Hey, Ben. I heard you were really worried about-oof!"

Sam did his best not to land ass first on the pavement as Ben launched himself at him, small arms cinching tight around his shoulders. He said something, but his face was pressed so tight into the crook of his neck that Sam couldn't make it out.

"What was that?"

Ben pulled back, face red and blotchy from crying. His aura was upset, curling in on the edges in a riotous mix of red violets.

"You shouldn't have tried to go to the bad place."

Sam froze before tugging Ben out and up the car so he could resettle him in the car seat properly. He was getting just a bit too big for the full seat and had long ago figured out how to undo the clasp, but he let himself be manhandled dutifully into the harness.

_No wonder Lisa always talks about how he's getting so big so fast._

"We'll talk about that later, ok? But I can say I didn't go too far into the bad place," Sam soothed, tucking the blankets around him firmly after Ben rubbed away the last of his tears.

"I know. But it was still scary," he admitted, reaching out a hand to clutch Cas' coat sleeve. It was a habit Ben did with whoever he sat by when riding in a car, and Sam wasn't surprised that he did the same with Cas, "You're cold and wet Unca Sam."

"I know," he said as he clambered into the back, shaking his head at Cas when he shot him a concerned look. He'd be alright for the ride, even if he was still shaking minutely, "I took a bath in the rain."

The silliness worked to lift Ben's mood a bit, his aura lightening to something that resembled a pink, pearly dawn sky.

"That was very silly of you," Ben said reproachfully, channeling classic Lisa disapproval with scary accuracy. If he could see his face right now, Sam was sure he'd be frowning to boot.

"Quite. What _were_ you doing Sam?" Cas asked, keeping the question light for Ben's sake. The blue eyes that surveyed him through the rearview mirror were much more serious, matching the swirling current coursing through his aura.

"Taking a walk…of the unconscious variety," Sam hedged, for some reason unwilling to say sleepwalking out loud in front of Ben. He got the sense that his nephew had some vague grasp of what had happened to him but wasn't sure how much Lisa had delved into talking about sleepwalking or explaining it to him. Hell, he didn't even know if Ben had had another incident after the one Lisa had spoken about to him at the Roadhouse.

Cas, being one of the sharper knives that Sam knew in the kitchen drawer, caught on quickly, aura swinging to run through a more concise thought process away from the confusion and concern that had been permeating his aura ever since he'd arrived.

"I see. Do you take-_silly_ walks like that often?" he asked, moderating his word usage after a quick side glance at Ben.

"Only recently."

"Unca Sam's too smart to go on silly walks in the rain all the time. Right, Unca Sam?" Ben asked, the admiring tone so clear it made his heart hurt just hearing it. How long did he have until that tone faded away and Ben inevitably grew up?

"That's right, buddy," he said weakly, suddenly understanding, out of the blue, how Lisa and Dean must've felt every time they remarked on how quickly Ben was growing out of his shoes and jackets and toys and mannerisms.

It made him want to protect Ben all the more from what no doubt was some odd extra sensory gift (curse, burden) he'd been handed down, but Sam couldn't do that. He knew it was impossible, and besides, he could barely take care of himself now.

"You better not get sick Unca Sam. That'd suck ass-"

"Language!" both he and Cas exclaimed instantly, to which Ben pouted and pointedly looked up at the Impala's ceiling.

"But daddy says it," he grumbled.

"Your father says a lot of things you shouldn't mimic," Cas said, his tone so stern and parental that Sam couldn't help but snort with laughter at the absurdity of the whole situation.

"He's right," he said, clearing his throat as Cas pinned a glare at him and Ben craned his neck to look back at him questioningly, "Cas is very right. Some words are for adults only."

Ben looked as if he was about to protest but Sam pulled out the ultimate trump card he had up his sleeve.

"Besides, your mom wouldn't be very happy if she heard you saying bad words," he continued casually, making a big show of inspecting his nails.

The gasp that escaped Ben was as dramatic and horror-filled as he'd hoped. Ben was about the biggest mama's boy in existence no matter how much he took after Dean in personality, and on more than one occasion Sam had been able to utilize Lisa as an effective reminder of what was right and wrong. Ben, like just about every child on the planet, didn't want to let down the person they looked up to.

_Did I ever look up to John like that?_

"I'll never say a bad word again," Ben swore solemnly, to which Cas harrumphed and made the slowest left turn in the history of mankind.

"We'll see how long that dedication lasts when you hit grade school. Now sit back before you crack your head open on the dashboard. Why Dean put your car seat in the front this week, I will never know…"

Sam settled back, letting Cas drive like an elderly person through the wet, slick streets. He enjoyed the inane if odd conversation dynamic the two were keeping up, and he let it drift through him as he dozed in the back.

He didn't think he'd ever looked up to John. All he could recall was looking up to Dean so intensely that it was a wonder he hadn't grown up to be a carbon copy of him, tussling over who wore leather and bruises the best.

"Mr. Cas, why are you driving so slow?"

"I'm driving like this because you are in the car. Better to be safe than sorry."

"Momma says that all the time. I know you're scared of her, and I don't get why, but I think you two would be good friends."

Sam's lips quirked up as Cas' aura churned in intense thought. He didn't have to open his heavy eyelids to see the colors that would reflect his indecisiveness of how to respond to Ben; he could feel it well enough.

_Those two get along just fine._

Every turn brought him closer home. Lulled by the sound of the engine and the rattle of the tiny green army men he and Dean had shoved into the air vent years ago, Sam was just about passed out by the time they came to a stop.

"Unca Sam. Wake up Unca Sam."

Someone poked his cheek. Sam grunted, hunching his shoulders up and frowning. Sleep was so close, just about weighing him down into a pleasant, if vaguely cold emptiness. He'd take an empty head after the disorienting experience he'd had earlier.

"I'll get him, Ben. Can you walk?"

"Yeah. Are you gonna pick him up like Daddy does?"

There was a soft chuckle. "I'm not quite that strong. Stay close to my side. We're going to help walk your uncle back up."

"I don't need it," Sam mumbled, reluctantly letting go of the tantalizing lure of sleep as he heard doors open.

"Yeah, you do. We'll walk you up and make sure you get warm, Unca Sam. So you don't get sick."

Sam cracked his eyes open to see Ben peering at him solemnly, chin tucked on top of the front seat. He was out of his car seat, and Cas was waiting at the open passenger door, blue eyes holding no sign of reproach or irritation at the task ahead.

"You're a good man Cas," he said as they began the trek to get inside and in the elevator before he fell asleep dead on his feet.

"You needed help, so here I am," Cas said, grunting as they swayed on a step and Sam leaned on him, "Ben, please hold open the door."

Ben treated his duty very seriously. At least, that's what Sam got from his aura; his vision was spotty at best with the way his eyes kept sliding shut. He did catch a glimpse of his nephew standing ramrod straight, one hand clutching the blanket draped around him like a cape as the other held the door open.

_We must make for a funny looking trio, _he thought as warmth began to seep into his bones. Only now that he was out of the elements properly did he feel how numb his hands and feet were, and the uncomfortable, stiff sogginess of his half-dried clothes.

Cas kept directing Ben with his raspy voice, ever formal. Ben was receptive, his aura always flaring in rapt attention whenever Sam stumbled, or Cas spoke to him. At this point, Sam's eyes preferred staying shut more than they wanted to be open, and he was navigating purely by memory as he forced his feet forward.

"Someone's in your apartment."

The words took a moment for Sam to register, but when they hit him it was like a whole new rush of ice rain down his back.

He opened his eyes to see that his door was half-open, and all the lights were on. It could've just been a result of his sleepwalking self, but he could hear footsteps, and they were too heavy to be Kevin's.

"Ben, get back here," Sam hissed, hooking a finger in the blanket that draped him and dragging him back into Cas, raising a finger to shush them as they both let out a huff of surprise.

"Sam…"

"Just a minute," he said to Cas, shaking his head like a dog in a vain attempt to get himself to wake up before moving forward in a half-crouch.

It took him too long to realize who was in his apartment. If he had been more alert, he would've noticed the lingering sweeps of gold in his doorway, but Sam only noticed the aura when he was pushing the door open.

Gabe was pacing in the middle of his wrecked living room, back and forth in one of the few clear spaces. Sam stared at the overturned coffee table, the books ripped out from the bookshelf and the half torn down curtains before his eyes slid to what he could see of the kitchen. It looked as if a similar storm had torn through it; pots and pans were strewn about, and it looked as if half the liquid contents of the fridge had ended up on the floor.

"Gabe?"

The P.I whipped around, hand stopping halfway through where he'd been endlessly tugging at his hair. His eyes were bloodshot from a night that had been just as long as his, and his button-down shirt was wrinkled and half untucked. Sam had never seen his aura so frenzied with worry and fear and concern, the emotions swirling up and around him like a corkscrew before flaring out in agitated bursts of white.

"Oh, Christ _Sam_," he sighed, face crumpling with relief as he surged forward, his aura winding away from him in golden relief.

Sam just managed to open his arms before he stumbled back from the force of the hug-tackle Gabe subjected him to.

"What happened?" he asked, unsure where to begin. There was simply too much going to on to process all at once, he was still just about ready to pass out.

"I came up and found the whole place wrecked," Gabe mumbled into his chest before reluctantly pulling back a bit to speak properly, "Sam…why are you soaked? What happened?"

Sam had no idea but had the sinking suspicion that whatever had occurred, he was to blame.

"I'll explain later, but whatever you do, don't call the cops," Sam pleaded quietly. He could only hope that Gabe hadn't already.

Despite the suggestiveness of the situation, Gabe relented grudgingly with a slight darkening of his aura. He knew Sam and the LPD didn't get along, and perhaps he'd caught him off guard enough with his bedraggled appearance that he'd hold off.

"Wow, this is a really big mess, Unca Sam!"

The duo turned to see Cas gingerly stepping in and shutting the door behind him, Ben goggling at the chaotic and foreign environment the apartment had become from his precarious perch on Cas' hip. Sam watched as Ben tried to lean out to crane his neck into the kitchen and Cas pulled him back, a panicked look on his face.

"It is. I think a really strong wind came through here while I was out. It was raining pretty hard," Sam lied.

Usually, lies had a hit or miss effect on Ben. He was extraordinarily perceptive (even more so now that Sam understood what might be behind all that perception), but he was still four, and a tired four-year-old at that beneath the excitement the night had provided.

So, Ben ate the lie up, even if Sam thought his dark eyes drifted off into thought for a second before snapping back into focus.

"You two should get back," Sam said firmly, dredging up the last of his stamina to keep himself on his feet (just ten more minutes), "It's late, and Dean will have a conniption once he finds out you took the Impala even if it was to save my ass."

"You said a bad word, Unca Sam," Ben pointed out accusingly, and Sam winced, scratching the back of his neck.

"Yeah, my bad, buddy. Slipped out when it shouldn't have. Pinky swear we won't tell your mom?" he asked, stepping forward to stick his pinky out.

Ben pouted but shifted to a more thoughtful expression that reminded Sam of the way Lisa looked when she was mildly concerned.

"Alright. But just this once," he warned, hooking his fragile pinky around his.

"Are you sure? I can stay for a bit and help clean up," Cas offered, mouth pressed in a thin line as he surveyed the mess around them.

"No, take him home. I know he looks keyed up now, but he'll crash soon," Sam sighed, running a hand through Ben's still baby-soft hair and smiling when instead of smacking his hand away, Ben simply accepted it. He was too tired to protest.

"Alright," Cas said doubtfully, but his aura relented as Ben yawned wide enough to crack his tiny jaw, "Alright. Even if I highly doubt you two are capable of cleaning all this up on your own."

"I'll manage."

Both he and Cas turned to look at Gabe, who was standing straighter now. He didn't look as tired; if anything, he looked strangely revitalized as he stepped forward.

"I'll handle it. Get the kid home," he said, smiling faintly at Ben, who smiled back sleepily.

"Been chasing monsters, Mr. Gabe?"

"All night," he said solemnly, "But it hasn't eaten me yet."

"That's good," Ben said just as solemnly before his eyes sharpened, "It almost got Unca Sam. He's getting hungrier. He's so _hungry_."

Sam didn't like how Ben said hungry, or the way he seemed to look off into the far-off distance, like how he did when he was studying people's auras.

"Unca Sam, do I _have_ to go?" he suddenly pleaded, looking more alert as he gazed up at him with wide eyes.

"It's best if you go home," Sam replied, disquieted by his nephew's uncanny words and the muted fear rippling through his aura like the strokes of a dull knife.

"You could come with us," he implored, ready to work himself up into a frenzy, "What if you take a walk in the rain? What if the monster tries to eat you again? What if-"

Sam's insides had been scraped clean by the night, but he somehow summoned up enough energy from the hollow to take a now crying and nonsensical Ben and stride towards the door.

"Nothing's going to happen to me," he mumbled as Ben sobbed into his neck about monsters and hunger he couldn't understand but somehow saw anyway, "Hey, listen to me. It hasn't gotten me."

He was vaguely aware of Cas and Gabe trailing behind, but he put them out of his mind to focus on Ben, who was calming a bit and sniffing more than he was crying.

"It looked as if he would though," he croaked, leaning back to look at him with wet eyes, "It was a big building, like yours, and it smelled bad. Like when I cut my finger and Daddy tells me to suck on it to make it better. And there was a room-"

He suddenly broke off, frowning intently. Sam was glad he did because he had to process the fact that Ben had somehow been in the _same_ experience as him.

"I don't know after that. It went by so fast, but it was slow too," he said, wrinkling his nose as he tried to explain, "You know how dreams feel funny, and you can't tell time?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I know," he managed to say as they entered the elevator.

Cas and Gabe didn't follow them in. At some point, they'd come to some agreement he hadn't heard to give them some space, and he and Ben were alone with the burden of dreams hanging between them for the first time since the Roadhouse.

"I didn't tell Mr. Cas that I saw him in my dream from a long time ago," Ben said, the tears gone as suddenly as they'd come. All that was left were the tracks on his face and the blotchy color on his cheeks, obscuring the freckles he'd inherited from his father, "It didn't seem right, but it's ok because we're friends anyway. Did you know Momma told me that she knew I was a superhero?"

"Did she?" he asked, watching as a floor dinged by. He wasn't surprised that Lisa would have a talk with Ben after he'd spilled the beans so thoroughly in her kitchen.

"She said that every superhero's momma knew they were special, and has to know they're a superhero, which makes sense," Ben explained before his mood shifted, "Unca Sam?"

"Yes?"

Another floor dinged by. His apartment's elevator left a lot to be desired.

_Slower than the other one._

On some level, Sam knew that focusing on this inane fact wasn't a good sign of his mental fortitude at the moment, but he shoved that warning voice down and straightened the Winchester spine of steel he'd been imbued with. Later, he could sleep and cry and do whatever the hell he wanted, but right now Ben needed him.

"Does being a superhero get any easier?"

The dual tone of innocence and resignation, echoed in the twilight and dusk of his aura as if Ben knew the answer before he'd ever asked, nearly got Sam right then and there.

But only nearly.

He inhaled a shaky breath before exhaling, struggling to find the right words to explain what he didn't want to explain. How do you break it to a four-year-old that his Daddy is like Batman more for the tragedy of the character than anything else, and that superheroes are just caricatures for the world to cling to?

"It hasn't gotten any easier for me," he said as the elevator began to settle on the ground floor, "But I think it'll get easier for you, because you have me, and I'll always be here for you."

Sam wasn't sure if it was the right answer. He wasn't sure if _anything_ was right anymore, but it satisfied Ben.

"I'm here for you too," he said as the doors dinged open, "We're the only ones that can do what we do, so we have to be."

_What we do._

"You're right," he said, reluctantly accepting that it really was him and Ben, "Dammit, I just want to _sleep_."

He wished desperately he could just lone wolf it out and keep Ben away from all this, but it would come for Ben and hound him anyway. When Sam was younger, he'd tried ignoring auras, but it was like not using a sense when you had it; nigh on impossible, and eventually, he always caved and reopened his gaze to the hidden layer of the world around him.

"That's a bad word, Unca Sam," Ben intoned dutifully, and Sam huffed out a semblance of a laugh as he made his way through the darkened lobby.

"Can you keep another secret?" he asked, waiting for the solemn nod before continuing, leaning in close to whisper in Ben's ear. "I said it on purpose."

"You _didn't_!"

"I did," he said with a smile, grunting as he sat down one of the long, cushioned benches pushed up against the wall, just by the door, "But it's superhero time, Ben. Can you tell me what else you saw?"

Ben slipped out of his hold and curled up into his side, looking up at him with a searching gaze before nodding slowly.

And so they sat, the sole occupants of the warm, dusty smelling lobby, duty-bound to their dreams in a way only they could understand as they waited for the elevator to return.

…

Sam wasn't sure how Gabe got him back up to the apartment; like many things about tonight, the exact details eluded him. All he knew was that one minute he was kissing a now asleep Ben goodbye, and the next he was somehow in his bathroom, swaying against the counter as deft hands peeled off the layers that stuck to him one by one.

"I'll clean up. You're cold as ice," Gabe murmured.

He wanted to respond that he wasn't nearly as cold anymore due to the golden shades that had enveloped him at some point along the way, but Sam couldn't make the words come out. His tongue was heavy with drowsiness, and all he could do was grunt as he shucked off the last of his clothes and stepped into the waiting shower.

An indeterminable amount of time passed with Sam sitting beneath the stream of water, too tired to stand. He moved only to turn the knob incrementally to make it just a little hotter. Each time the effort took less, but Sam still couldn't bring himself to stand as he reached the limit of the heat.

So, he stayed there and thought between the long blinks of sleep his eyes snatched of everything that had happened. John. Ben. The Crucifier, now not only just some serial killer with a vague supernatural element about him, but a cunning monster that knew of him and tried to toy with him.

Sam ran his hands through his hair and kept them there, fingers tightening around wet locks. There was no other way he could frame what had happened. Somehow, the Crucifier had gotten into his dreams (maybe even his head) and manipulated him like a marionette, steering him towards what had to be his latest crime scene.

_The apartment building must be where Hoffman lives. It's the only explanation. _

Is that why Gabe had come? Had he heard something about Hoffman and come when he hadn't answered his phone? Sam was sure his phone was somewhere in the mess of the apartment because it surely hadn't been on him.

Footsteps from the hall (socked feet with slight trepidation) came in and stopped just outside of the shower curtain.

"Sam?"

"M' still alive," he mumbled as Gabe drew the curtain back a bit. If he was more awake, he would be a lot shyer about having so much of himself be so exposed tonight, but Sam could care less right now.

"You're going to fall asleep in there if you stay in here any longer."

Sam rolled his head upward and hummed noncommittally. Now that he'd sorted through what he could of the night's events, he knew what he had to do.

"Well, can't have that," he said before reaching for the shower knob and yanking it to the other side.

Gabe leaped back from where he'd been about to help Sam out with a shocked hiss as cold water rained down.

It hurt at first, switching so suddenly, but it was a trick he'd learned long ago when he'd pulled all-nighters either for school or the family business. Sam forced himself to stay beneath it, rolling with the reactionary shivers and gritting his teeth.

"Sam, you fucking _idiot_-"

Gabe reached back to turn it off, but Sam grabbed his wrist before he could make it, glaring up at him through his hair.

The moment was rife with tension, but Sam was stronger, and they both knew it.

"You always push yourself too much," Gabe said, half-tired sounding and half-angry as he yanked his wrist back, "Why can't you just _rest_?"

"I don't know."

They looked at each other for a moment, and then the tension that was making Sam sick to his stomach broke with the slump of Gabe's shoulders.

"This is all my fault," he muttered, head in his hands and aura falling fast, "I should've never dragged you into all this."

"That's not true," Sam said firmly, alarmed by the change in Gabe's aura. What had been fairly normal was now limp and dull, the pastel wisps gone and the gold lackluster, "You didn't drag me into anything. I got curious, and I wanted to help out, so here I am."

"_Still_," Gabe protested, only to be shushed by Sam.

"I'm letting the water get all over the place. Whatever you have to say to me will have to be said through the curtain."

He knew Gabe well enough at this point that he understood that the P.I needed some space to get his head together. Sam didn't like the look of his aura at all, but he _also_ knew the man wouldn't leave him right now, so the thin curtain would have to do.

Sam drew it shut, and Gabe made a strangled noise of disbelief before huffing out a laugh. He didn't try to draw the curtain back though, and after a few minutes of silence, his aura seemed to ease with the makeshift barrier between them.

"Why do you still insist on working the case with me when you're getting dragged through so much _shit_ along the way?"

Judging by the hefty weight behind the words, this was a question that had plagued Gabe for a while, and Sam didn't blame him for asking. At times he'd wondered himself because even he could admit that things _were_ starting to take a toll on him, pride and stubbornness be damned.

"Because I commit to following through on things. That's just how I've always been," Sam said, finding that he too benefited from the privacy the shower curtain provided, "I have trouble letting things go. But also, because I can't let you do this alone. You're…really important to me, and while I know you would and probably could do this on your own, I won't let you."

"Would you rest if I told you to right now?"

A tricky question, and one that, no matter how much he wanted to give the answer Gabe wanted to hear, Sam couldn't. He'd already omitted so much from Gabe that he hated lying to him when he could avoid it.

"No. But only because I know that something bad has happened. It's the only reason you'd be here so late with that look on your face. You only get that look when someone's died."

On the other side, he could hear Gabe stand and begin to mess with the stuff on the counter, no doubt trying to find something to do with his hands as he relayed his version of the night he'd lived through.

"I got the call just shy of midnight. Some of the cops stationed at Hoffman's place weren't responding to their radios, and since it was close to a shift change, some people got suspicious. They sent a unit out, and…"

Gabe trailed off, and Sam got the horrible, certain feeling that Hoffman hadn't been the only victim tonight.

_There had been too much blood in that building for just him, _he thought with a shudder as the shadow laughter echoed in his ears.

Something clattered on the counter, and Gabe cleared his throat before continuing. Sam could just make out his silhouette through the curtain, arms braced against the counter and head bowed.

"There are 2 known dead from what I know so far," he said, "Both LPD beat cops. But no one has an exact number yet. There's too many-_pieces_-to go through."

Cop killers, Sam knew, were just about the worst thing in the eyes of a police department. He winced as he tried to grasp the ramifications of such killings on the LPD, and how they would no doubt clamor for blood. At the very least, the dynamic would worsen between them and the FBI, who might just wrestle the case from them if the LPD got too zealous in their efforts to bring The Crucifier to justice.

It didn't bode well that The Crucifier (_Death_) had moved to such thoughtless killings. He was methodical, detail-oriented, and cautious enough that it tempered his bold acts. If the scene was a gory as Gabe was insinuating, then it meant that maybe the killer was beginning to devolve and lose sight of his mission.

_Come see what I've done._

"And Hoffman?"

"Missing. Dead or alive, no one knows, but by now? Probably dead," Gabe replied grimly.

In Sam's opinion, it was just about certain, but his stomach lurched as he realized what that meant. If Hoffman hadn't been killed and displayed in his apartment, then The Crucifier had wanted him to see the _dead cops_. He'd been just as proud of killing _them_ as he had all the ones that had hurt him in some way and were on his list.

He'd gotten a taste of cop-killing, and more than liked it. He wouldn't stop at just this one incident.

_The hunters become the hunted._

"You can't blame yourself," he said, sensing the guilt and self-deprecating emotions rolling off of Gabe in waves, "If anything, blame the system and the idiots that didn't handle the situation better. I'm assuming there were no FBI agents there?"

"No," Gabe said grudgingly, and Sam nodded to himself.

"Maybe if they'd been there, the situation would be different. That's for the higher-ups to knock heads over, not you," he said, content to see that his words were lightening the weight in the room. The bathroom was far too small to contain Gabe's aura comfortably, "You do what you can, which is a lot for one P.I against the world."

"But it's not _enough_," Gabe stressed, "I thought we might finally be catching up to this guy, but then he goes and butchers a bunch of cops, and _none_ of us saw it coming! How do you catch someone so unpredictable and _vile_ and-"?

He cut himself out with a groan of frustration, and then suddenly stalked back to sit on the toilet.

"Someone broke into your _apartment_, Sam! You're in danger, probably from the Dead Eyes, and I don't understand why you won't let me call the LPD, bad history with them aside," Gabe exclaimed, words bursting out with a heated white flash from his aura that burned right through the curtain.

"Because wasn't the Dead Eyes that trashed my place," he replied softly, reaching a hand up to peel the curtain back just enough to poke his face through.

Gabe stared at him with eyes that begged for understanding, and Sam sighed before reaching to turn the water back to something more human to bear. He was wide awake now, but still unwilling to leave the strange safety the tub provided.

_I shouldn't feel this comfortable in a place I nearly drowned in._

"It was me. Sleepwalking," he confessed, holding up a hand to stop Gabe's instinctive response, "Just _listen_ for now. There's more to it than what I've been telling you."

Explaining the true nature behind his sleepwalking was easier than he'd anticipated, probably because Gabe knew half of the story anyway. All he had to do was tell him what he'd omitted, which went over about as well as Sam thought it would. There was much gesticulating and raving about his stupidity, but Gabe accepted it as truth, which was what mattered to Sam most, even if he went pale as a ghost when he described what he'd gotten up to tonight.

"So _that's_ how you've known stuff ahead of time. You see it, and then you played it off as best you could."

"Basically," Sam sighed, watching as Gabe's aura began to calm down, "I didn't want you to think I was crazy, but I also didn't want to just _sit_ on all the information. I did the best I could."

He hadn't meant to sound defensive, but it came out that way and Gabe immediately registered it.

"I know you did, and I get what you did it the way you did, even if I wish you'd told me sooner," he said hurriedly, "It's just…this is a whole extra load of crap you shouldn't be dealing with right now."

"Story of my life," Sam joked, sighing when Gabe only looked at him with a stony expression.

"Sam, you sleepwalked all the way to your _father's_ today, and that was only after an attempt to get to the latest_ crime scene,_" Gabe stressed, eyes flashing with unbridled concern, "Forgive me for being frightened on your behalf."

"I'm alright," Sam said automatically, hating to worry Gabe so much when the P.I already had an overflowing plate to deal with, "It's nothing I can't handle."

"Because you already see stuff?"

Gabe's face was perfectly normal as he said it, tinged with only a bit of inquisitiveness as if it wasn't the most dangerous question he'd asked all night.

Sam swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat, wondering how all the blood had drained from his face so quickly. If he hadn't already been crouched in the tub, he probably would've stumbled in shock.

_Maybe I can play it off._

"What?"

"Oh honestly," Gabe muttered before reaching for the knob and shutting the water off, probably putting an end to what would no doubt be an extremely high water bill for the month.

"I noticed something was off a while ago," he started, hands slapping lightly on top of his thighs. Composed, if a little nervous, but clearly in control of the conversation as he spoke. "You always look off into the distance or just past people right before you say something that's a little _too_ on the nose. There's empathetic, and then there's you Sam. I'm not quite sure what you see, but I know it helps you read people, and maybe even rooms. I was waiting for you to say something, but I don't think this one can wait."

Gabe crossed his arms and waited expectantly for him to say something. There was a bit of apprehension in his aura; worry that he might've pushed too hard, but overall, Gabe looked confident that he was right.

Meanwhile, Sam had been rendered effectively speechless. His mind went blank in alarm when Gabe started talking, and now he was left reeling at the fact that Gabe had not only somehow guessed accurately he could see stuff other people couldn't but wasn't scared by it at all.

A laugh edging the line of hysteria burst out from him, but Sam tamped a lid down on it quickly. Out of all the possible scenarios he'd thought of where this final secret of his had been revealed, he'd never expected it to go quite like _this_.

"I..how the _hell_…no, I already know. You're brilliant at what you do," Sam said, tossing aside that line of questioning in an instant.

"Fairly decent," Gabe corrected teasingly, and Sam rolled his eyes before growing serious.

"You have to understand I never told anyone. Dean knew because he was Dean, and I only just told Lisa because it fit in context with Ben," he explained, fixing Gabe with an intent look.

"Because of his sleepwalking."

Sam nodded, and Gabe frowned in sudden consternation.

"Wait, you didn't even tell Jess?"

Sam shook his head, and Gabe reared back, visibly startled by the confirmation before another thought occurred to him.

"Your _father_?"

"Nope."

Gabe lapsed into silence, and Sam watched as the gravity of the secret hit him like a ton of bricks. His aura rose around him like in a vague cyclone shape before evolving into that wing shape that fascinated him. They spread out in an arc of gold that smacked the walls of the bathroom before returning to a smoky, shimmery abstract form that coalesced around his shoulders.

"Holy shit."

"Yeah," Sam said, for lack of anything better to say. In his defense, he was completely distracted by the show Gabe's aura was putting on.

"Do you get it now?"

"Yeah, I think so," Gabe said softly, looking at him with a renewed gaze, "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone."

"I know you won't," Sam said with a smile that came easily now that he was sure Gabe wasn't going to freak out, or worse, leave. It was all in his aura, and even better, written across his face. "Help me out?"

Gabe's cheeks turned very rosy, and he stuttered as he grabbed the towel and practically threw it at him.

Sam frowned at his odd behavior before chuckling as he realized what the issue was. Gabe, silly as always, was _embarrassed_. It had somehow escaped the P.I to check him out when he helped him _into_ the tub, but now that he was getting _out, _the opportunity registered clear as day.

"We've been talking like this for what seems like half the night, and now you get all worked up?" Sam asked, standing with a huff (he was too big to sit in the shower for that long), and Gabe turned his head away so quickly he feared the P.I might've cracked a vertebra.

"Just trying to give you some modesty! Privacy! Space!" he exclaimed, a hand up to shield his vision even further.

"You're a moron, you know that right?"

"Hey!" Gabe squawked, ready to defend his honor as he turned around, only to whip back around when he saw Sam was only just getting the towel around his waist.

"That was a trick! A cruel and petty trick!"

"You're the one that turned to look," Sam said with a smirk before stepping up and grabbing his shoulders, "Hey."

Gabe looked up at him with equal mixtures of curiosity and suspicion through his interlocked fingers, and Sam smiled before steering him in front of the mirror.

Sam looked just as bad as he'd felt before getting into the shower. Too pale, too washed out at the edges, and the drowned waif look didn't help. However, he had some more things to say; things too important to leave off for tomorrow. He wouldn't let himself stop here now that Gabe knew, and judging by the intense curiosity swirling through Gabe's aura, the P.I wouldn't let him off the hook without _something_ to sate him.

"I call them auras. It's the best name I have for them, and the one that'll bring the clearest image of what I see in your head," he started, standing behind Gabe, "The first distinction to make is that I can't see my own. Never have, and don't expect to anytime soon."

"Really? Why's that?" Gabe asked, blinking at their reflection. His aura swirled around him with the trademark gold and pastel hues, highlighting the absence of anything around Sam's figure. All that he had were the wisps of Gabe's that liked to stick to him, a testament to the time they spent together.

"Not sure. The best explanation I have is that maybe since I know me best, there's no need for me to see an extension of my being."

"But you see everyone else's."

"Correct, which leads to the second thing you should know. I can misinterpret them. I'm only human, and it's not a foolproof art. Auras are an extension of people, but people are very complex on their own. Auras can either be enlightening or just add more confusion if I don't read them right."

Sam paused, struggling to find an apt comparison. The one he'd used with Lisa hadn't been great, and he wanted to do better by Gabe, but he'd hardly ever talked about it out loud,

"Try to think of it like chapters in a book. People are the books, and auras are extra chapters being continuously rewritten in real time. On top of that, the chapters are written in different languages that vary between people. As the reader, I try to be as literate as I can, but I have to piece together a lot on my own due to the constant flux in auras, and I make mistakes. Sometimes I think I see something that's not there or miss something obvious. Auras don't reveal everything about people. Just emotions and those are about as messy and tangled as you'd expect."

"Any emotion?"

"Any," Sam confirmed, watching as Gabe's face changed in the mirror, "But I make mistakes, and sometimes I'm not sure of what I see. That's where I have to be a regular person and fumble my way to the right answer."

"What's the answer you see in me?"

Sam locked eyes with Gabe in the mirror. They made an odd pair in all sorts of ways. One dressed, one not; one short, one tall; one resplendent with an aura, the other not.

_But both on the same page._

It had been a complex dance around each other, but at this moment, exposed in the mirror, they aligned. The surety rose in Sam's chest, turning into a roar of confidence that led him to nudge up closer to Gabe and keep his gaze in the mirror.

Now or never. The choice was before him, and Sam seized the opportunity with both hands and eyes mentally shut at the leap he was about to make.

"I was an idiot at first," he confessed, hoping his voice remained steady, "I didn't read the colors right, and then when I _did_, I immediately figured I was wrong. I was so sure I was misinterpreting things because there was no way you could be into me. A successful P.I, clever and confident, chasing after a waiter with enough emotional baggage to sink a ship made no sense to me."

Gabe leaned back into him, patient and steady. His aura held a frenzied edge, but none of that showed through his body except for in his eyes, and Sam could handle meeting those.

"But there's a third thing you should know about auras. What they do reveal is never a lie," Sam said, blood singing when Gabe's aura shone brighter in response, "It's hard to fake emotions in front of me when auras always reveal the truth, and people can't attempt to disguise something they aren't aware of. So, once I got over myself and realized that I couldn't be making up all the things I was seeing, I got my answer."

"I _knew it_," Gabe breathed, already turning, and Sam fell into his warm embrace, chest searing with warm delight as he finally, _finally_, let himself close the distance between them.

Gabe was sunlight, warm and growing hotter with every second they stayed pressed together. He tasted like fruit candy, no doubt the snack of preference when he'd been on the road tonight, and the thought drove Sam to cup his face and grab the back of his neck, right where his hair ended, and his collar started. Sam was immediately drunk on him, courtesy of his all-encompassing aura. All the tantalizingly close touches and embraces paled in comparison to _this_.

"I thought I'd die before I got an answer," Gabe mumbled against his mouth as they pulled apart for air, and Sam hummed, following him for a moment with shut eyes and snatching a brief kiss before pulling back.

"Was it worth the wait?" Sam asked, a trace of nervousness still lingering. Maybe he'd waited too long or hurt Gabe irredeemably in the process. He'd been a fool to deny himself all of this when it'd been just a confession away this whole time.

"Don't ask stupid questions," Gabe grumbled before looking up at him with an earnest expression, "I know you can see the answer."

"I still like some verbal confirmation," Sam said, even as his eyes openly danced over the conflagration of pinks and purples and shots of red that lit his aura up and his heart did some stupid lurch in his chest. Gabe's easy acceptance of such a fundamental aspect of himself meant more than he could say.

"Verbal? Well, since you really want me to use my mouth…"

"Gabe, oh my God you're _awful_," Sam laughed, shoving a smirking Gabe away from him, "Seriously?"

"Not if it puts me over here," Gabe mock-pouted, "Let me back in!"

Sam obliged, and their noses bumped as they lined themselves up for another kiss that left Sam once again chasing after Gabe when he pulled away. He couldn't help it; his aura was just as irresistible as he was.

"One last question," Gabe said, arms looping around his neck, "Or rather, a repeat of one I asked earlier."

"Yeah?"

"How hard would it be to convince you to get some rest with me?"

"Not very hard at all," Sam whispered, grinning when Gabe promptly began to lead them out of the bathroom, "Eager?"

"For some much-needed sleep, yes," he replied before yawning hard enough to crack his jaw.

Sam took in the fatigue traced around his mouth and eyes and acquiesced fully. They could discuss things in the morning, once they were both refreshed and a bit more separated from the horrors of the night.

"You cleaned it," Sam stated, taking in the straightened-out furniture. He had a vague recollection of walking by a giant mess on the way to the shower, but now it was much tidier. If it weren't for a few things here and there, he'd have said nothing had happened to his room at all.

"Somehow, I knew the LPD was never going to get called, so I took it upon myself to get a head start. A lot of loose stuff ended up in the closet, so be careful when you open that in the morning," Gabe admitted, already halfway through unbuttoning his shirt, "Oh, and your drawers are a mess inside."

"I can see that," Sam said dryly, having already pulled one open in the search for boxers, only to find a tangle of mixed clothing looking back.

There was no sassy response; just a dip in Gabe's aura that signaled he was almost half asleep. Sam glanced back to see the man sleepily shucking off his pants, eyes already shut. Autopilot mode.

He let Gabe get himself settled in as he went to hang up his towel and do one last sweep of the apartment for himself. Luckily, Kevin's room had been spared of his sleepwalking rampage, and Gabe had kindly cleaned up most of the mess in the kitchen. No sticky spills on the floor anymore, even if the living room was still ravaged.

_I'll have to fix it in the morning, _Sam thought, idly righting the coffee table back on its feet before Gabe's aura flared from inside his room.

"Sam?"

"On my way," was his immediate response, practically running back to his room. Why spend the rest of the night cleaning up when he could put it to better use?

Sam did make a point to bring his trusty baseball bat with him, and as he leaned it up against his nightstand (where Gabe's gun had also been laid to rest), he wondered if he was being too paranoid.

But then Gabe drew the covers back, and as Sam curled up around him, he decided that there was no such thing as being too careful these days. He had someone to keep safe after all, and even if Gabe could take care of himself, that didn't mean that he wouldn't be idle.

The next time Death tried to come knocking, Sam would be ready.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE

I'm not sure whether to cackle evilly or cheer with you guys, because the ship has finally set properly! I think I'll go down in fandom history for one of the slowest burns ever.

But now it is hiatus time. I have to regroup and plot things out to death, but it shouldn't be more than a few months. The situation with COVID-19 has led my college to doing online classes, so if you still want to read stuff from me, I'll have one-shots up in these coming months. I'll try to actually like, update my Tumblr when hiatus time is over, but my tentative schedule suggests **May **will be when I make the return to this series.

Until then, my readers! Stay safe out there, and please take good care of yourselves.


	16. Pineapple and Watermelon

**Chapter 16: Pineapple and Watermelon**

Gabe had never been much for cuddling. That wasn't what he wanted from one-night stands, and while he never begrudged anyone for cozying up while they were asleep, but he always made a point of waking up first to extricate himself gently, and never gave it much thought beyond that.

Of course, Sam was the exception to all of his preconceptions, and when Gabe woke, he wasn't surprised to find that he didn't feel like moving away from his side.

"Why the hell are you awake?" he mumbled, enjoying the feel of Sam's skin beneath his lips. He was truly lucky that Sam didn't sleep with a shirt.

"Catching up on some readings," Sam replied softly, the hand carding through his hair never skipping a beat as the other remained on his laptop. "School sucks."

"No dropping out."

"I know. I worked too hard to get here," Sam sighed.

"Which I'm proud of. Get that degree," Gabe yawned, trailing his fingers left and right across what he could of Sam's chest. Now that he had free-range, Gabe didn't let himself hold back from being touchy. It wasn't that he was touch-starved but more…_intimacy_-starved. It was true dramatic irony that everyone knew him as the tactile P.I, but in reality, he'd hardly ever touched someone like this, or been held like this.

Gabe knew it'd probably be considered depressing that he'd gone this long like this, but something about Sam being his first _real_ relationship had a special ring to it. Sam wasn't someone he would leave behind in the dust or run from. He was different in so many ways, but the biggest was that he'd somehow made Gabe a little different too in the process.

The hand in his hair shifted direction, moving a bit more swiftly.

"Are you feeling ok?" Sam asked hesitantly, for whatever odd reason.

"Why don't you look at me and find out," Gabe mumbled, rolling his head so it was pressed back against Sam's collarbone. He was cozy enough that if he tried, he could probably go back to sleep, and some far-off section of his brain told him to get sleep while he could.

"You say it so casually."

_No sleep for me, _Gabe thought, resigning himself to the fact as he propped himself up on an elbow to give the very intelligent response of, "Huh?"

"Just…I don't know, I only told you like, six hours ago that I can see auras, and you've barely batted an eyelash," Sam said, running his thumbnail along the edge of his laptop and chewing on his lip in that way that made Gabe want to kiss him to soothe it.

"What do you mean…oh, _that_," Gabe said, cutting himself off as his mind finally began to wake up and actually focus on what Sam was saying instead of sleep. Not that he hadn't been _listening_, but really, who could blame him for being a little more focused on all that glorious skin just waiting to be used as a pillow?

"It's just part of who you are," Gabe explained, running his fingers up and down Sam's bicep to draw out some of the nervous energy that currently marred his brow. "Besides, it's not like you dropped _that_ big of a bomb on me. "It was like a medium-sized bomb. And I'm good at taking things in stride."

Gabe knew that the latest secret Sam had let him in on wouldn't settle so easily. It'd take longer than one (admittedly extremely eventful) night before Sam would fully accept that Gabe wasn't going to bolt out of terror, and he understood. It was why he was so good at simply going with the flow; if he didn't, the world would drag him down by way of his job or his past, or even worse, snag him with his own secrets.

Sam gazed at him for a long moment (and Gabe was sure it was really at him and not _around_ him) before he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his temple.

"What was that for?" Gabe asked, trying his best not to blush at how cute and _soft_ the chaste kiss had been, only to fail when Sam smiled.

"Just appreciating you. I've never been able to relax like this with anyone before," he confessed, shutting his laptop and setting it aside before his smile widened, "C'mere."

"Hey-wait!" Gabriel gasped before huffing out a surprised laugh as Sam rolled onto his side and drew him in close, pulling up the covers until warm darkness descended around them.

"Your aura makes me feel really warm. It's like it radiates heat, but a heat only I can feel," Sam murmured, hands smoothing up and down his back.

Gabriel tucked his face into the crook of Sam's neck and threw a cautious arm over Sam's waist. He wasn't quite sure what he was doing, as he'd only tolerated and never initiated cuddling, but judging by his pleased sound, Gabe was doing alright.

"What color is it?" he asked, enjoying the way Sam hummed as he ended his question with a soft kiss to his collarbone.

"Gold. That's the main color," Sam replied, hand drifting to run through the hair at the base of his neck. "There are some pastel shades in there, but it's primarily gold and very large. You know, for such a tiny person, you have an impressive aura."

"I'm going to ignore the insult so I can enjoy the compliment," Gabe grumbled, only to find all of his irritation bleeding away when Sam began to run his fingers through his hair with more focused effort.

"I'm serious. Not many people have gold auras, or auras as expansive as yours. You caught me off guard at the Roadhouse."

Gabriel thought back to that fateful Tuesday night, and how surprised Sam had looked when he'd sat down in front of him. He'd chalked it up to a long night shift and exhaustion making him so jumpy, but now Gabriel had important context that explained Sam's keen eyes-uncannily sharp even at that late hour-and the way they'd lingered on him.

_He could read me like an open book, even then._

"You're thinking about it," Sam remarked. Cautious, as if he didn't want to spook Gabe with his pinpoint accuracy.

"I am," Gabe said easily, thumb stroking up and down Sam's hipbone in a gesture he hoped the other interpreted correctly as comforting. "It's okay to say so."

"People tend to not want to have their feelings called out to them."

Gabriel snorted and drew back a bit so he could look Sam in the eyes; as much as he could in this comfortable dark. He was tense, and more than a bit wary, but he didn't hesitate to look at him when Gabriel reached a hand up to clasp the back of his neck.

"I'm not very typical. I think we can both agree with that," he said with a cheeky smile that successfully drew a companion smile from Sam he sensed more than saw.

"Honestly, I don't think about my feelings too much. I just _feel_ them or stay in motion so I can avoid the ones I don't want to. So maybe this way, you can call me out on my bullshit, and I can't make any excuses because we both know you'll be right. Besides, it's not like you can turn off your sixth sense, so you might as well look."

There was a moment of quiet between them, heightened by the way the comforter distorted sound and hushed the world outside. Not tense, but just _quiet_ in a way Gabe hadn't had in a while.

Maybe he saw it in his eyes, or his aura; whichever way, Gabe knew Sam had gotten more or less what he'd been trying to convey as he surged forward to press a smiling mouth against his.

"You're so odd, but I love it," Sam murmured as he drew back to kiss right beneath his jaw, a weak spot that made him curl his fingers through Sam's hair. "You do know that sounds completely illogical and more than a little weird, right?"

"I like making exceptions for you," Gabe said, trying very hard to get the words out without gasping.

He could feel Sam's smirk against his skin, but before they could go any further, his phone rang with the last ringtone he wanted to hear.

_I'm going to throw that thing into the nearest body of water if it interrupts me again._

"_Son of a-_"

"They're already stealing you away from me," Sam mumbled, peppering frantic kisses against his neck, "Dating a hotshot P.I has its downsides."

"Not too many to outweigh the benefits, I hope," Gabe teased back, hoping the insecurities rearing their ugly head at the double whammy mention of "dating" and "downsides" was hidden by his lilting tone.

However, Sam was not that easy to trick. Gabe knew it was a longshot since he had the whole vision thing (which needed a proper name besides "seeing auras" in his opinion), but hiding his worries, and everything in general, with humor was just how he operated.

"Of course not," he said soothingly, nipping at his neck in a way that immediately had Gabe forgetting insecurities and ringing phones and common sense, "You're so _warm_."

The situation was quickly spiraling. On the one hand, Sam was starting to become bold, pressing impossibly closer and gripping him with greedy hands that Gabe would rather _die_ than try to extricate himself from. Hell, he might just die if Sam kept this up; Gabe wasn't ashamed to admit he had more than a little of a weak spot on his neck.

On the other hand, duty was _literally_ calling, and Gabe saw things through to the end. Even if it meant leaving the bed of Lawrence's hottest lawyer in the making.

"You're going to be the death of me," Gabe groaned before pushing at Sam's chest. Not hard; Gabe knew he didn't need to in order to get Sam to stop, and he was right, as Sam backed down almost instantly.

"I've got to get that call, and we both know it," he said apologetically, pecking Sam's cheek on his way up and over him to clamber out of bed.

He'd left his phone to charge in the living room, which was still mostly wrecked. Gabe had been more fixated on cleaning the kitchen, but it made his habit of pacing while on the phone hard to do when there wasn't much clear space _to_ pace on.

"Milton," he answered, hoping he sounded appropriately awake and aware and _not_ as if he'd just been getting borderline filthy with his new boyfriend (_boyfriend_? That was a word he'd have to get used to using). He hadn't been able to check the contact name in his haste to reply, so he could be talking to anyone in law enforcement right now.

"Gabe, thank goodness," Donna sighed, sounding as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders, "Where have you been? The unit we sent out said you weren't at your apartment, and-"

"Wait, slow down," Gabe said, instantly on alert, "Unit? What's going on?"

"Headcount," Donna explained, "To make sure everyone that was out last night is accounted for. We…well, the scene is a mess, and it's just to make sure everyone's safe."

Gabe silently rapped his knuckled on his forehead in self admonishment as he thought of all the fuss they must've started to raise trying to locate him. It didn't help that he'd left the station so quickly upon hearing of what had occurred, his only thought to reach Sam and make sure he was okay. Gabe's shoulder blades had been itching fiercely for a few hours leading up to that point, and it'd worried him enough to make him act irrationally when the news broke.

"Well, I'm fine," he said gruffly, hoping Donna would leave it at that. There was no way he was explaining he'd been a bit busy helping his boyfriend (the term was growing on him) recover from a traumatic session of sleepwalking, only to promptly have said boyfriend confess a multitude of things that ended up with them getting together.

_I'd rather throw myself off a cliff, or that bypass down the road._

"_Fine_ doesn't cut it, Milton," Jody growled after a scuffling sound that must've been her wrestling the phone from Donna's poor grasp, "Your whereabouts are necessary information if you're going to be reinstated onto the case, and I have half a mind to send a unit out to said location if you don't answer within the next 3 seconds."

_Reinstated?_

"Christ, Jody, _okay_," Gabe replied, reeling from the bombshell she'd just dropped, "Did you just say I was reinstated-?"

"_Milton_."

Jody's tone left no room for argument. Gabe swallowed once, face flaming with heat, and sent a thankful prayer up to whatever deities existed that Sam was still in his room and not witnessing his humiliation. It appeared that if he was to have all his one desire of being properly back on the task force, he would have to walk this trial by fire.

"I was at Sam's place. He was sick, and I…took care of him."

_Sick_ wasn't the most accurate word for it, but other than that, all of it was true which Jody seemed to sense if the long pause on the other end was any indication. Gabe crossed his fingers that she wouldn't demand any more details.

"I see," she said finally, her tone much different. Less aggressive, and slightly accommodating beneath the now regular sternness, "It's…good to see you caring about someone other than yourself."

Gabe gaped, but before he could get a word in edgewise, Jody continued.

"I've been told that your reinstatement is effective immediately and that you'll be working on the taskforce with us."

"With Bela?" he couldn't help but ask, lip curling at the thought. He'd try to set aside their differences for the sake of the case; he was a professional after all, but he wasn't sure Bela would do the same for him.

Plus, he still remembered how she'd tried to get the drop on Sam. Gabe hadn't been fond of sitting that out in the closet, and her actions had only lowered his view of her.

"I'm not sure," Jody admitted, "Everything's in flux right now. All I know is that your presence is required at Hoffman's apartment immediately. Post haste, stick the siren on your car and hoof it sort of immediately. Understood?"

This was no time to joke around. Just hearing the vague details that had come through the station had made Gabe queasy, and what Sam had told him of his premonition (or weird out of body experience? What would it even be classified as?) told of a crime scene even grislier than the ones they'd had so far.

"Understood."

Gabe held his phone in his hand after the call ended, staring at nothing in particular as he tried to work out what had just happened.

He was _back, _but his presence had come at a price. Someone high up out there was desperate enough to override the taskforce's authority and refresh the whole damn thing, which meant he'd be walking into a less than ideal situation. A gift and curse all at once.

"Beginning of the end, huh?"

Gabe turned to see Sam leaning against the entrance of the hallway, wearing a shirt (unfortunately), and flannel pajama pants. It was a remarkably adorable appearance with his sleep mussed hair, but his ominous words and pinched face contrasted it.

"It's a turning point for sure," Gabe sighed, running a hand through his hair and wincing as it caught on a knot. When was the last time he'd brushed his hair?

Sam frowned before approaching, gently running his fingers through his hair as he pulled him close.

"I've been reinstated," Gabe said, voice muffled in his chest. It was a position he was growing more and more fond of, "I'm officially back on the case, and I don't know how it's going to go."

Sam's fingers paused only for a moment before they resumed their task.

"We'll figure it out," he said, voice steady, "It's probably for the best. Sneaking around dressed as janitors was pushing it a little on the legality front."

"Shut _up._ That's a highlight of my P.I career!" Gabe protested.

"Of course," Sam laughed, pressing a kiss to his temple before sobering.

"Things are going to get worse before they get better. Promise me you'll see it through to the end."

"You know I will," Gabe said, confused by what Sam was asking. Did Sam have sudden doubts?

Sam averted his gaze, suddenly shy as he tugged on his hair.

"I mean with me. Whatever happens, I want us _both_ to come out on the other side. Together," he clarified; cheeks dusted pink. "I know we won't have time to do things properly between us right now, so I want you to promise that after all this is over, we will."

There was a long moment of stretched quiet as Gabe absorbed Sam's words and Sam looked as if he'd locked his legs so he wouldn't run, but Gabe could tell that he'd meant every earnest word behind his request.

_And why wouldn't he? After Jess, of course he would want some reassurance._

Gabe didn't make promises lightly, because he always strived to keep them and knew that he couldn't keep everyone that came his way. This particular one, however, was more than easy to make as he clasped his hands around the nape of his neck and looked him in the eyes.

"I promise."

Sam didn't question it. Gabe knew by the way his eyes unfocused that he was looking at his aura, and a surge of energy raced through him as he realized that his aura reflected his words accurately. Sam _couldn't_ doubt him; not when he could see the proof for himself.

It was refreshing in a way, to know that someone would know he was telling the truth and meant what he said. The negatives of Sam's ability were certainly there, but Gabe had meant it when he said that he was glad there was someone that could set his straight when it came to the finicky emotions he still struggled to do more than just feel and move on from without contemplation.

"You have to go," Sam said after taking in his fill. His voice was quiet, a touch sad, but largely understanding.

"I do. But I think I have time for one more kiss," Gabe said with a hopeful tone that successfully lightened the somber mood as Sam perked up.

One kiss turned into two, and then three. Sam kept chasing him back towards his room and insisted on "helping him dress" by surrendering articles of clothing only with the payment of a kiss.

It was endearing, and Gabe's chest hurt at the thought of leaving Sam when what they had between them was still so new and innocent. Law enforcement made for long, odd hours away from home, and Gabe suddenly understood why so many people in the field had relationship problems or missed home so much when he finally got dressed and Sam had no more excuses to make him stay.

_I don't want to leave him._

"You're a P.I and a damn good one," Sam said, reading his mood, "I get that. So, go do your job."

"That ability of yours is scary once you drop all the pretense," Gabe remarked, "But in a good way. You'll have to tell me more about it when I get back."

"I promise," Sam said, eyes glinting to show that he'd meant to echo Gabe's previous promise before he grew serious. "There is one thing you should know."

"What's that?"

"People can sense him," Sam said, voice low as if he was imparting forbidden knowledge, "His aura…it's evil incarnate. People can't see auras, but that doesn't mean they can't sense evil. It makes people uneasy. Some part of them knows there's danger, but they can't do anything about it."

What Sam was describing sounded familiar, and it took Gabe only a moment to pin down where he'd seen such reactions.

"The library, when you found Wilkes," he said, to which Sam nodded.

"His aura was fresh then. I'm sure reactions will be similar with this crime scene too. So be careful and try to keep a clear head."

Leaving was hard, but as Sam kissed him goodbye and pressed a thermos of coffee that he'd somehow managed to prep in between all the other kissing they'd done (a magic ability he hadn't mentioned?) with a teasing order to bring it back as soon as possible, Gabe thought he'd be able to manage. Sam would be here when he got back, and the reassurance was a comfort to cling to in the midst of the chaos he was about to throw himself headfirst into.

…

It was one thing to hear Sam describe what little he'd seen in stilted words, and quite another to see the crime scene for himself.

Gabe shouldered past the small crowd forming along the police barricade to find Garth and Zeke waiting. Both of them looked as if they'd been up all night, and Garth in particular was doing his best not to look back at the apartment building swarming with activity.

He couldn't blame him. Despite the spring sun shining down into the street, the apartment building somehow appeared exempt from the light, crouched back from the street and shadowed on either side by the taller buildings. It was as if it knew what had occurred within and decided to reflect it on the outside.

"It's good to see you, Gabe," Garth muttered, blue eyes darting around before leaning in. "It's bad. I haven't even look, because I know I'd puke, but Zeke did."

Gabe glanced at Zeke, who nodded stiffly and said nothing more.

"Well, gentlemen, don't worry your pretty heads about it anymore," Gabe said, trying to alleviate their nerves with a dash of humor as he clapped a hand on each of their shoulders, "I've got it from here."

The ominous atmosphere only increased the closer Gabe got. People coming out of the building practically ran out without looking back, and those heading in did so with obvious reluctance. Gabe's shoulder blades began to itch, and he got the impression that if Sam was here, he would have a lot to say about the auras.

But that wasn't the only thing that increased as he approached the scene. Eyes lingered on _him_, and it took Gabe a long moment to realize that they were looking at him because they knew he was back in business. The looks weren't bad- quite the opposite in fact-but it only added to the pressure that already weighed on him to solve the case. What did it say when an entire department was now looking to him to bring some much-needed insight?

_It says that the faster we get this wrapped up, the less gray hairs I'll grow._

Jody and Donna were waiting by the front door, along with a woman Gabe had only seen a few times. Statuesque and somber, Billy Reaper was the right-hand woman of the Chief, and rumor had it that once the Chief retired, she would be a shoo-in for the position.

The itching sensation heightened between his shoulder blades. He'd only met the Chief once, but if Billy was here in his stead, something must be wrong.

"Mr. Milton," Billy said, velvety voice not quite matching the flatness of her tone, "You've arrived. Let me start by saying that it is a shame that it took this long for your expertise to be reintroduced to the case."

"Well, I'm here now," Gabe said, shaking her surprisingly cold hand before glancing at Jody and Donna. Jody shook her head gravely, and Donna shrugged minutely.

"The Chief would be here himself, but he's taken ill," Billy explained, lowering her voice as a pair of beat cops passed by, "I cannot speak for the severity of his condition at this time, but for today, the case shall have me overseeing things for the LPD. We will be working in tandem with the FBI, and they're aware that a consultant will be joining, despite their personal feelings regarding such involvement. I don't think I need to remind you that you'll be representing the LPD as much as any of our detectives in this situation."

Gabe was familiar with deciphering professional jargon. After coming across so many in all the states he'd been in, he read in between the lines easily.

_The Chief is sick, and badly enough that if more people knew more shit would just hit the fan. I'll be the boss in the meantime and the first thing I did was put you back on the case because we need someone to trump the FBI, and they can whine about it all they want. Right now, you're an honorary member of the LPD, which means you better act like it._

"Crystal clear," Gabe said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. He hated when law enforcement politics got in the way of work. As the consultant, he was always the one to suffer first from the pissing contests.

"Good," Billy said softly before turning to Jody and Donna, "I need to speak to the FBI, so I'll be up again later. Familiarize Mr. Milton with the situation."

A round of "yes ma'ams" and then they stepped into the lobby.

The smell hit Gabe before the scene did. Blood, only just starting to grow stale, and a sickly-sweet smell he'd long grown accustomed to associating with corpses. Just a whiff at the moment, but Gabe's nose never betrayed him.

Floodlights had been brought in to illuminate the lobby in lurid detail, making the bloody runes pop out even more from the cracked, shabby walls they'd been painted on. A pair of legs stuck out from behind the lobby desk, soles exposed from beneath the white sheet, and Gabe knew enough about blood splatters to know that the ones that decorated the wall behind the desk were of the sort that meant it was a mercy the body was covered and out of sight for the moment.

"Mr. Milton?"

Gabe turned and saw a pair of FBI agents he could place as the ones that had visited Sam. He'd described them well; Agent Arch was tall, young, and suave even with a pinched face of tiredness, while Agent Smith was gray and faded at the edges like the once innocuous lobby used to be.

"Agent Arch. This is my partner, Agent Smith," the FBI agent said, remarkably civil as he extended his hand.

"Gabriel Milton, but you already know that," he replied, schooling his face into a mask of impassiveness as he glanced at Agent Smith. He hadn't extended his hand, which meant he was looking at one of the old school/new school duos the FBI had a penchant for assigning.

"We're willing to listen to whatever conclusions you may draw," Arch said, eyes drifting around the lobby, "This…is unlike anything I've ever seen from a serial killer."

"Uniquely deranged," Smith piped up, "The worst sort of killer to hunt. You've got yourselves a killer that'll probably end up being studied in Quantico."

"What an honor," Jody said dryly.

"We've actually used some of your insight already," Arch said smoothly, cutting in before hackles could rise too far. "For instance, your connection with an Enochian expert saved us a lot of time. Mr. Novak is upstairs and proving to be especially helpful in translating."

Gabe was glad he'd gotten his game face on outside, because if he hadn't, he might've reacted tellingly. As far as anyone at work knew, he and Castiel simply had a work connection, with a passable acquaintance relationship due to Castiel's finicky nature and Gabe's ability to get through to him when other members of law enforcement would be met with an irritated brick wall. It wouldn't be detrimental if someone found out things went a bit deeper, but Gabe didn't want to bring any more heat onto the Winchesters if necessary.

_Whatever happens, I'm keeping them out of it. Sam's already having too much of this bleed into his life._

Things were different before. Gabe had cared about Sam, and still saw him as the best partner he could ever hope for, but now the stakes had grown impossibly high. He had much more to lose in Sam now than just a _partner_ and he'd be damned if anything happened to Sam on his watch because of this case.

"Castiel is invaluable in a case like this," Gabe said diplomatically, "But why is he here?"

He had to admit, he was concerned. Castiel didn't strike him as the nauseous type, but even seasoned officers would have a tough time with all this gore and he'd never been to any of the crime scenes.

_But then the Dead Eyes broke into his apartment._

A lesser man would've begun to sweat nervously, but Gabe managed to rein in the sudden spike of panic. Had Dean and Castiel ever reported that? Neither had made any mention of it since that one time he'd visited Dean's place with Sam and judging by how Castiel had handled Ben last night (not to mention the fact that he'd driven the fucking _Impala_), he didn't think Castiel had moved out of cozy hideout with Dean.

Thankfully, his status as the former odd man out led to someone filling him in before he could make a misstep.

"His apartment was broken into, and he doesn't feel safe there," Donna explained, a touch of sympathy in her eyes, "Poor thing said he'd rather be out here surrounded by officers than there. They did quite a number on the place and took some of his Enochian books."

"Not to mention evidence," Jody grumbled, "Even if it's useless in the perp's hands."

"I see," Gabe said, relaxing as for _once_, proper channels had been navigated. Cas must've bullied Dean into making sure it was reported. "Does he have the translations for the Olsen scene?"

There was a moment of silence in which people suddenly found various aspects of the lobby interesting before Agent Arch courageously answered.

"It is to my knowledge that Mr. Novak wasn't…immediately utilized for the Olsen scene."

_Huh?_

Gabe's eyebrows flew up his forehead before he asked the obvious question.

"_Why_?"

"It appears the LPD's taskforce wasn't as focused on the Enochian as they were at the beginning of the case," Smith said nastily, "In fact, I heard the guy was harassed while he was reporting his apartment break-in-"

"The situation is being remedied," Jody said coolly, "But Mr. Novak is back in full capacity and has stated that he can work from the primary source."

"Nerves of steel, that one," Donna murmured.

Gabe wanted to ask what the hell had happened with Castiel (and why the man hadn't _mentioned_ any of it last night), but Jody was already redirecting them, catching his attention with a jerk of her head and a look in her eyes that spoke volumes.

Later, she'd tell what she knew. But right now, he needed to work and put on a show _fast_.

_Fine. If they want a show, then they'll get one, _he thought, setting everything aside before reaching into his pocket.

More than one eyebrow arched as he pulled out a lollipop, but he saw Jody and Donna instantly perk up. Unlike the others, they knew what candy eating at crime scenes meant.

"Food isn't allowed-"

"Sir, with all due respect, just let him be," Donna said hurriedly, eyes darting between him and Agent Smith, "He knows what he's doing."

Gabe unwrapped the lollipop without any other interruption. He could hear his favorite detective duo explaining things further for the clueless FBI, but by the time he'd placed the lollipop in his mouth, he had already slipped into work mode.

Sam hadn't seen this side of him yet, but every so often, Gabe needed a bit of a boost when analyzing crime scenes. The need for a lollipop had plagued him ever since they'd found Cork strung up in the Internet café, but he'd held off, and then he'd been kicked off the case. Candy helped him focus, and Gabe only ever did it when a scene was truly puzzling or so chaotic that he needed the extra help.

Today, he thought it might be a bit of both. This was chaos incarnate, but as his eyes skimmed across the lobby, he found more questions than answers on the surface.

That didn't mean there weren't answers to be had. They were just a bit further under the surface and required a certain finesse to be raised to the light.

"Pineapple," he announced after savoring the flavor, "And our killer has learned to multitask."

Gabe gestured to the runes painted across the wall behind the lobby. The runes were vicious, slashing and dripping across each other; competing for room in a way that made his head hurt. Today, he couldn't help but begin to read them, pulling meaning from violence.

"_Not even the guard dogs can stop me…"_

"Messier than usual. He was in a hurry, but they're also messy because he hadn't planned on writing that particular message. He likes to put flourishes on his work," he said, voice clinical and calculating even as he shoved all the old memories of Enochian down.

"Mr. Novak said something similar earlier," Arch remarked. His skepticism was waning; beyond that Gabe couldn't tell much. He was too focused on the scene.

"Who's the victim?" Gabe asked, striding over as close to the body as he dared to without protective booties.

"Officer Perez. He was on door duty," Jody informed, face rigid as she approached with him. "His partner, Officer Simmons, left to respond to the sounds of gunfire down the street."

Gabe logged the information away for later (a shootout down the street was _way_ too convenient) before picking up a corner of the sheet and taking a peek.

Perez had been nearly decapitated by the mortal slice to the throat. Gabe swallowed once at the red, wide grin of his neck, willing himself to ignore the overpowering smells of blood and death to focus on the-

Nicotine.

"Perez was a smoker," Gabe murmured, eyeing his stained yellow fingers before sniffing again, "He smoked before he died."

"And?" Smith asked. The FBI agents had approached but kept a tasteful distance.

"There are no butts anywhere. Not in here or out on the stoop," Gabe explained, mind already whirling as he tried to puzzle through the mystery, "Were they bagged?"

"None were on scene," Arch replied, and Gabe grunted before his eyes drifted further down.

"_And_ he's missing his Taser. Where's that at?"

"We found _that_. It was upstairs in Hoffman's toilet," Donna replied, sounding relieved she was aiding in the process.

"The killer had his hand on that. Only reason why he'd leave it in the toilet," Gabe said before letting the sheet fall back down, "Tell me more about the shootout."

"One block down, between what witnesses reported to be Dead Eyes and another unidentified gang group," Jody said, "Biggest gunfight in the area in the past year. We were in between shift changes, so Officer Simmons as well as our two plainclothes officers went ahead to assist."

"Leaving behind Officer Perez and the two officers upstairs," Gabe concluded, straightening with a grace he'd developed after years of crouching over corpses, "He halves the force he needs to deal with, and manages to tie up any potential reinforcements. His distraction worked flawlessly."

"Are you seriously suggesting that the unsub set up a _gang shootout_ in order to draw heat off of the building?" Smith spluttered.

"Yes," Gabe replied steadily, looking him square in the eye as he dragged his teeth across the lollipop. "He's not stupid. He knew reaching Hoffman would be hard, so he had to plan things out more. The gangs are easy enough to rile now that everyone's on edge. We've long established he's well versed in tech; it wouldn't be hard to remain anonymous enough to set it up."

"We retrieved a bag of drugs left in the empty building that the gangs had their initial shootout in," Donna said, head tilted slightly, "We assumed they were making a deal, but perhaps…"

"Each could've been told to meet a buyer, and instead found each other and one bag to argue over," Arch finished, brow creased with deep thought, "A riveting theory, but it goes against his hatred for gangs."

Gabe snorted, gesturing to the bloody lobby with a wide swing of his arm.

"He's descended into a new level of delusion. The kind that turns insane killers into hypocrites without them even realizing it. He's probably justifying it as a means to an end."

No one argued with him on that, and Gabe turned decisively towards the elevator. There was nothing else in the lobby that he wanted to go over, and he was more than aware that the true mess would be upstairs.

It was an even tighter squeeze than last time now that they had more people, but no one said anything about it. The atmosphere was palpable; a strong, sour taste in the back of Gabe's throat that not even the artificial sweetness of his pineapple lollipop could combat. A new wave of prickles made Gabe roll his shoulders, and beside him, Agent Arch appeared to be drawn as tight as a bowstring.

_People can't see auras, but that doesn't mean they can't sense evil._

When the doors slid open, blood was predictably everywhere.

It slashed across walls in arcs, now darkened signs of a struggle. Floodlights illuminated this hall as well, bringing out the starkness in the dried stains. Yellow markers extended down the hall, creating a morbid breadcrumb trail to Hoffman's apartment door, which was wide open.

"This is too much for one person," Gabe stated, moving down the hall with precise steps to avoid stepping in places he shouldn't, "And the patterns are wonky."

"Wonky how?" Smith asked dryly.

"Like he squirted some of it up here himself," he replied, peering at a particularly puzzling arc of blood. Gabe was no expert on the nuances of blood patterns, but he'd seen enough over the years to know that blood was shaped by gravity and force in readable ways. Some of the blood on the walls was unreadable to a degree that stood out.

"Everyone's been accounted for in the building. The only known deceased are the three officers," Jody said, dark eyes roving across the blood with a faint ill expression, "Do you think-?"

"He has a thing for blood," Gabe confirmed, thinking of how Sam had described the hall he'd seen. Blood-soaked and highlighted as if The Crucifier wanted to draw even more attention to it. "It's one of those weird details about him that I'm sure the FBI will be able to psychoanalyze further."

"You're doing a good enough job so far," Arch murmured from behind him.

Gabe only grunted in response; eyes drawn by a familiar flash of a tan coat in Hoffman's doorway.

"Castiel! How goes the translating?" he called, infusing a bit of his usual persona into his voice.

Castiel craned his neck back out from behind the doorway, and Gabe was impressed to see that his only reaction was a head tilt. He certainly wasn't going to let on that they knew each other outside of work.

"Gabriel. They told me you would be back," he said, shaking his hand to complete the act, "Are you…eating a lollipop?"

"Yup," Gabe said, popping the "p" with a smack that had Castiel wrinkling his nose at his antics, "How's the scene treating you?"

"It's gruesome, but I'm managing," Castiel replied, eyes sliding past him to glance at the people behind him, "Ah. Is this a demonstration of your capabilities?"

"Always right on the nose," Gabe remarked as someone coughed behind him. Judging by how raspy it was, it must've been Agent Smith.

"Well, I shall leave you to it. I can tell you that the message downstairs was written quickly, and not planned in the slightest with all the errors. It translates roughly to "_Not even the guard dogs can stop me from executing justice. You have paid the price for delaying Death."_

The volume on the floor decreased with Castiel's words. His voice carried; the gravelly deepness naturally having that quieting effect on people. Gabe would've been jealous of his effortless commanding of a room if it weren't for the fact that he knew Castiel had absolutely no clue of it.

"Got it," he said, clapping his shoulder, "I'm assuming there's more in here…."

Gabe had stepped past Castiel to see what other Enochian would leap out at him with twisting runes but instead found himself trailing off in the middle of a very deliberate mess.

A circle had been cleared in the middle of the living room, with everything radiating out from it in haphazard spirals. Furniture, possessions; the minimal things Hoffman had owned were all there, some damaged and others destroyed by what looked like a very furious process. At the edge of the odd circle was another body covered in a sheet, as if The Crucifier had decided last minute to include the fallen officer in the arrangement.

There were only three words left behind, one for each living room wall. Gabriel didn't need Castiel to translate them, because his traitorous mind leaped ahead and did it for him, but Castiel's voice brought the words to further life.

"Heaven, Purgatory, Hell," he recited, nodding his head to each wall from left to right as he spoke, "There was another sheet left behind, but I think these reveal a lot more than the pre-written sheet."

"Let me guess. It's just a bunch more rambling about stuff he's already covered."

Castiel nodded, and Gabe resisted the urge to crunch down on his lollipop.

The Crucifier was losing what tenuous grip he had on reality; of that Gabe was certain. Killing the cops had somehow made him sink further into his delusions and simultaneously change the direction towards an unsettling path that Gabe suspected wouldn't bode well for the LPD.

"What about this circle?" Gabriel asked, stepping a little closer to the circle and craning his neck to look within it. "What's the deal-_oh_."

Centered in the cleared space, hidden by the height of the material around it, was a collection of human organs.

Gabriel identified the heart, lungs, and intestines before he pulled his head back, nostrils flared and lollipop close to being demolished between his teeth.

_Deep breaths. No puking._

"Those aren't from any of the officers," he remarked, turning back to face the group with what he hoped was a put-together face, "Too little blood. He didn't have time to play Operation with someone last night."

"During the autopsy, the coroner discovered Olsen was missing her organs," Donna said quietly, face angled away from the circle.

Gabriel stared at them before glancing back at the pile of organs surrounded by geometric lines traced in blood.

"Olsen was killed Wednesday. How the hell did you keep this little _fact_ out of the news?" he asked, shifting his weight to one side and eyeing the FBI agents with renewed interest.

If there was one thing Gabe had learned about Lawrence, it was that their journalists were of a different caliber when it came to tenacity and fear-mongering. The local news had taken to reporting on The Crucifier like pastors preached sermons, and they'd been able to sniff out the victims and their names almost as soon as the LPD. Even now, reporters were clamoring at the barrier outside, hungry for the next blood-soaked installment in the serial killer saga. Murder was good for their business; the gorier the better.

Agent Smith sniffed delicately before cryptically saying, "The FBI has its resources."

"Resources indeed," Gabriel muttered before his attention shifted to the body made a part of the disgusting setup.

"Anyone I know?" he asked, shoulder blades itching (when would they _stop_? ), and Jody sighed.

"Officer Bertram," she replied, voice subdued her head towards the bathroom, "And Officer Jones makes three."

_The officers that were here when I dropped in on Hoffman._

Gabriel bit down on the lollipop.

"Dammit," he said, chewing aggressively before shoving the stick into his pocket. Irritation at The Crucifier coursed through him, and a bit of sadness at the fact that he knew of the officers. He didn't know either of them well, but he knew that they were decent guys in the LPD. They didn't deserve to go out like this.

He pulled back the sheet with renewed vigor, ignoring Bertram's bruised and puffy face to study the stab wounds that had taken him out.

"Defensive wounds on his arms. Deep, just like the stab wounds," Gabe said clinically, fingers itching for another lollipop or any other type of candy (anything to alleviate the death smell and evil around him). "What's he carrying around now, a sword?"

"Perhaps."

Gabe let the sheet drop a bit so he could look up at Agent Arch in disbelief, his candy search momentarily forgotten.

The agent shrugged, not even the least bit affected by what Gabe knew was one of his better "You're-fucking-crazy" faces.

"It's either a long knife or a short sword. Either way, it's a weapon that he's recently chosen to pick up, because all the other victims, even Olsen, showed no such signs of a weapon. Simply regular knife wounds."

"As if anything this guy does is regular," Jody muttered.

"His gun's missing," Gabe said, eyeing the empty holster. "Where was it found?"

"Toilet as well."

"Excuse me."

They all looked at Castiel, who held up a clipboard and tapped his pen against the marked-up papers. His translations.

"I believe there may be substance to the sword theory," he said, eyes shifting uncomfortably to Bertram. Gabe quickly covered him back up, and Castiel's eyes flicked upward again as he continued.

"There's a phrase here that makes mention of a sword. Specifically, a "holy weapon whose blade has been anointed by Justice," but that's all. He doesn't focus on that."

"What _does_ he focus on?"

Gabe glanced further back to see that at some point, Billy had made her reappearance. How long she'd been there, he wasn't sure, but he was aware of her presence _now_.

Castiel sighed tiredly before looking back down at the clipboard. Gabe made a note to pull him aside and make sure he was alright, because while he may have had "nerves of steel," the scene was clearly wearing on him. He was an academic, and it showed in the awkward way he stood in one of the few clear spots in the room and how he kept fidgeting.

"He mentions making progress on his journey to purity. More mentions about how no one can catch him, repeated retribution motifs, etc. Besides the mention of his new "holy weapon," the only other thing I can bring awareness to with my expertise is that he's not only getting better at writing Enochian, but he's also branching out into non-Enochian rituals."

"I didn't think that was very Enochian," Gabe said, gesturing to the circle, and Castiel nodded, expression darkening.

"I'm not sure what _that_ is, but it is unlike anything I've ever seen."

"Satanic?" Smith asked with the tone of an agent that lived through the old days of Satanic panic.

Castiel leveled a look at him that had Gabe making a show of searching his pockets for more candy lest he did something inappropriate like _laugh_. If Castiel was looking at federal agents like _that_, then he was a walking time bomb of caffeine deprivation.

_Someone needs to get him a coffee soon before he explodes._

"Just because it is an unidentified ritual doesn't make it _Satanic_," Cas said slowly as if he was speaking to a particularly hardheaded moron. "You'll have to call someone else in for this because rituals aren't my forte if they aren't Enochian, but I would hazard a guess that it won't be identifiable as a standard ritual."

"He's making up his own?" Donna asked, alarmed.

Cas nodded, and Jody groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Just great. The guy's getting creative in more ways than one."

"Mr. Novak, why don't you take a break?" Arch interjected, a trace of compassion on his face, "You've done more than enough for today, and you were called at an early hour no less. I'm sure someone in the LPD can arrange for coffee to be had."

"I've got him," Donna said as Castiel's face lit up, "We'll be waiting outside."

Jody was quick to excuse herself with them. Gabe suspected that they sensed the evil more acutely than the others since they'd been on the case from the very beginning because both she and Donna looked one step away from shooting at the darker corners of the apartment.

"Well, I have one more body to see," Gabe said, looking down the short hall to where the open bedroom door beckoned, "Then I have a feeling I'm going to need a major recap on what the task force has been up to. It looks like a lot has gone down while I've been out of the game."

"It's been a busy week," Billy said, pulling out her phone.

_A week?_

Gabe ran the mental math and realized that Billy was right. He'd been booted off the case…last Wednesday. Tomorrow would make it a whole week since the Roadhouse had burned down.

_This case has felt like an eternity._

"Right," Gabe said faintly, reminding himself to keep a better eye on the calendar moving forward.

"There are things we need to discuss, Assistant Commissioner," Smith simpered before turning to Gabe with an unreadable expression.

"You're an…_acceptable_ addition to the task force, Mr. Milton, and I say that holding the opinion that P.I's are usually hack jobs."

"Hack jobs can be found in every level of law enforcement," Gabe replied cheerily, eyes cold as ice to counter his shit-eating grin.

He didn't think he imagined the way Billy's lips twitched as Agent Smith's face darkened, but Agent Arch stepped in at that moment to end the conversation.

"Mr. Milton, you still have the rest of the apartment to look at. I'll keep an eye on him, Zachariah," Arch said genially, doing his best to soothe his partner's ruffled feathers.

Agent Smith grumbled, but left with Billy, leaving Agent Arch to turn to him with an apologetic look.

"Sorry about him. He's…old school," he said with an apologetic smile and half-shrug.

"I know," Gabe said, quickly deciding that Agent Arch was one of the better FBI agents he'd encountered. That wasn't saying much considering the majority of the ones he _had_ encountered tended to look down at him, but Agent Arch had a Prince Charming vibe that set him apart from the rest. FBI agents, in general, didn't look or act like Agent Arch.

That didn't mean he'd let his guard down, but Gabe now knew who he'd go to if he ever had to interact with the agency. Unlike Bela, he knew when to concede and compromise, and he could do it in style.

They walked down the hall single file (it was too narrow for anything else), with Gabe leading. The bedroom door was half-open, and Gabe glanced in to find Officer Jones lying face down between the bed and dresser. A lab tech was working the room, which explained why he wasn't covered.

"Less blood splatters, bigger pool," Gabe remarked eyes flitting across the small, cramped room, "Gunshot?"

"Point blank by his partner's gun. His was found under the bed, with only his fingerprints. One shot fired," Agent Arch informed, nodding at the dresser.

Gabe walked in further and turned to see that the mirror attached to the dresser had been shattered by the shot. His reflection looked back, unrecognizable by the refraction of the disjointed shards that clung to the frame.

_He shot Jones, but not Bertram. Why?_

"Blood on the windowsill," Gabe said, picking up the smears before studying the window further. The curtain rod was askew; the blinds a tangled mess, as if someone had grabbed onto them.

"Not Officer Jones. Lab's still out, but the blood type matches with Hoffman."

Gabe turned away from the window to see Agent Arch still standing in the doorway. The choppy stripes of light that filtered through the window cut across his face, highlighting his sharp green eyes and leaving his mouth in shadow.

"I've heard about you," he said suddenly, stepping in to let the lab tech out, "My partner hasn't, because he detests anyone that's not FBI on principle, but I like to keep an open mind. You're the nomadic P.I that goes where the work is. A wanderer."

_Wanderer._

"I like to travel," Gabe replied, reaching into his pocket for another lollipop. He'd need it both for the room and for the direction this conversation was taking.

"P.I's don't travel," Agent Arch said, tilting his head, "They also don't primarily work for local law enforcement. P.I's settle down somewhere and open an office so they can catch cheaters and find lost puppies."

"It's called diversification," Gabe retorted, "Keeping up with the times and whatnot."

He unwrapped his upsettingly linty lollipop after taking a glance at the flavor (watermelon), ignoring the way Agent Arch's eyes tracked his movement across the room.

"You're an anomaly. The FBI isn't a fan of those," Arch warned, but not unkindly. If anything, he sounded _puzzled_, like Gabe was a particularly interesting riddle he was taking his time to solve. "But then, this whole _case_ is an anomaly if we're going by the agency's guidebook."

"Then don't."

Agent Arch blinked, and Gabe sighed before deciding to just go for it. If he was going to get into it with the FBI, he might as well go all the way, and besides, they couldn't afford to have people stuck in useless, circular tracks of thinking on this case. Walking the trodden path was now deadly.

"You strike me as a fairly intelligent guy," Gabe admitted, however much it pained him to do so simply on principle "So _use your brain_. Don't rely on what the FBI taught you with this case. If you want to catch this guy, you'll have to think outside the box."

"Like you do?"

"Yeah. I suppose like I do," Gabe confirmed with a smirk.

"I'll take that into consideration," Arch said, and genuinely sounded as if he would before his eyes strayed to Officer Jones, who was now covered by a sheet.

"Walk me through it," he stated abruptly, clasping his hands behind his back and pinning him with a look that left no room for argument.

Not that Gabe planned on arguing. He only smiled and rose to the challenge with the trademark confidence that made him so _good_ at what he did.

"Officer Perez went on a smoke break. That's how The Crucifier snuck into the building. When Perez returned, he took him down before he could raise any alarm bells," Gabe started, fingers drumming on the stick of the lollipop, "His feet were pointing towards the door, but the blood splatters tell a different story. He was facing _inward_ when he was struck."

"And then he was relinquished of his Taser."

"He needed it for a reason. After killing Perez, he made his way upstairs using the back stairwell. I suspect Officer Bertram may have been drawn from the door by some sort of distraction. They fought, The Crucifier disarmed him, and then killed him, taking the key he had for the apartment."

"You noticed the door wasn't kicked in," Arch said approvingly.

"I notice a lot of things," Gabe sniffed, crossing his arms, "A busted down door is obvious. The Crucifier was trying to be as quiet as possible, but once he got inside, he started losing it."

"Officer Jones and the gunshot."

"Exactly. Officer Jones probably told Hoffman to retreat down the fire escape out here, and in his haste to nab Hoffman, The Crucifier decided to forgo a one-sided sword fight and just shoot him, but not without Jones getting his own shot off."

"And then the unsub got Hoffman," Agent Arch said, gesturing to the window.

"Hoffman got his brains knocked around in the process, but I'll bet you 10 bucks that's what the Taser was for," Gabe said, gesturing to the windowsill, "Hoffman was dragged out to the living room, where The Crucifier did his thing. He ditched the weapons he touched in the toilet and then they left, most likely down the same stairwell he came up."

Agent Arch stepped in, glancing at the fractured mirror and observing his reflection for a long moment before looking down at Jones.

"You're better than the rumors say," he murmured, looking up with a faint frown, "Even if you have some quirky habits."

Gabe snorted before chomping down on the lollipop, the cracking crunch loud in the cramped room.

"You're not so bad, agent," he said as he left, "I might just get along with one of you feds yet."

…

"These agents are _awful_, Sam," Gabe groaned, hunching over the tiny desk he'd been assigned and glancing over his shoulder to make sure nobody was listening too closely. "Maybe it was the lollipop eating or my breathtaking humor, but I don't think they respect me. I thought I'd die if I spent one more second in that conference room."

"The feds tend to be assholes," Sam said sympathetically, "Do you want me to bring you something to eat? I don't think you should be subsisting off of lollipops and stale station food. Not at this stage at least."

Gabe's face turned a traitorous shade of pink at Sam's considerate nature. He was glad nobody could see much of him besides his back because otherwise, people would've surely commented on it.

"That'd…be nice," he said haltingly, unsure if he should agree because he wanted it or disagree because it would put Sam out of his way, "But only if you want to!"

"I wouldn't have offered if I didn't want to," Sam teased, before humming with thought, "Actually, you know what? Meet me for dinner so we can have a bit of fun, and maybe I can spirit you away for the rest of the night."

Gabe's mind went to much more pleasant tracks of thought at Sam's words before stumbling to a halt.

"Dinner?"

"Yeah, dinner," Sam echoed, before making a noise that Gabe just knew meant he was doing that crinkled brow thing that he found adorable. "You lost track of time, didn't you?"

"No comment," Gabe replied, peering upward at the caged clock that had mysteriously been cracked despite its protection.

_6: 50? No wonder I'm so hungry._

"Gabe…"

"I'm fine," he sighed, rubbing his forehead and sitting up to crack his neck with a satisfying pop, "Just getting into the nitty-gritty of things and being reabsorbed into the taskforce. A typical day of work."

"Mhmm. Sounds like you need a massage."

"You know how to give _massages_?" Gabe squawked before lowering his voice. If the bullpen heard _that_ out of context, rumors would abound before he could say "interagency relations". "Wait, is that an offer or just a general statement meant to tease me?"

"It'll be the latter if you don't come to dinner with me mercilessly."

Gabe gasped louder than he wanted to before looking at the clock once more.

_Dinner, or another round of toiling over useless paperwork?_

"Where do you want to eat?" he asked after about 2 seconds of incredibly deep and nuanced mental debates over the choice.

Sam perked up audibly over the phone as they set a meeting spot (Gabe, much to his delight, discovered that Sam was suddenly incapable of deciding what to eat now that they were dating), and they hung up shortly after that.

"Going somewhere?"

_Of course, it's the one person I _don't_ want to see right now…_

Gabe continued in shrugging on his jacket, only turning around to face Detective Talbot once he'd grabbed everything he needed from his desk.

"Yes, actually. There's something called sustenance that I'm in dire need of," he said, slinging his bag onto his shoulder.

Bela frowned, lips tugging down into a scowl that did little to help the sleep-deprived look to her face.

"Station food not good enough for you?"

Gabe glanced at the table that held the station's goods on any given day. Right now, there was a very sorry-looking, crumpled excuse for a donut box and a single bagel.

"Is it good for _anyone_?" he asked rhetorically before slipping past her with a chipper, "Excuse me!"

"So you're just going to leave!"

Her voice was pitched high enough that it caught more than a few people's attention, even those at the water cooler on the other side of the room.

It wasn't the best look for him, but Gabe had slithered his way out of worse confrontational situations. Bela was clearly irritated at the fact that she'd been sidelined as a paper pusher within the task force, and she never knew when to quit when it was good for her.

"That's what I'm doing," Gabe confirmed, turning on his heel to pin her with a look that completely contradicted his flawlessly calm face, "I'm hungry and I, unlike you, don't get paid overtime."

The murmurs that had begun quieted a little as Bela faltered.

"You didn't know?" he asked innocently, pressing onward so he could cut this off before it could escalate. Gabe had a lovely boyfriend to meet in half an hour, and he didn't fancy being made late to his first official date with Sam because of a petty dispute.

"I get paid by the hour per case. However, there is a certain limit on the hours I can work per case, and technically, The Crucifier is classified as one case. A ginormous one that'll make history in all the wrong, infamous ways, but one nonetheless," Gabe explained, sighing as if put out by the terms of his own contract before shrugging morosely. "I haven't technically been paid to work this since about a day before you kicked me off the taskforce."

Everything Gabe said was true, to a degree. The terms of his work contract with the LPD said that his hours could be increased if there were "incredible extenuating circumstances" and it didn't get much more incredible than a serial killer. However, the paperwork he'd filed with the LPD to negotiate had gotten frozen in the system when he'd been given the proverbial boot, and he had no idea what its status was.

"So really, I worked for free today. I'm sure the LPD will handle it, but as of now, I am a free man consulting solely because the LPD really wants my consultation," Gabe said nonchalantly, "Which means I'm going to get dinner right now."

Sam would've loved the look on Bela's face, but Gabe mentally shuddered as he thought of how he'd respond to the information regarding his contract.

_That's a problem for later, _he thought as he left a sufficiently chastised bullpen in his wake. _Maybe if I skim past it, he won't get too mad about it._

Gabe had about as much hope of that happening as The Crucifier turning himself in, but a man could dream. Sure, it was a little harder now that he knew Sam had a built-in lie detector, but Gabe was nothing if not stupidly persistent and persuasive. If he played his cards right, he could maximize the date aspect and minimize the looming serial killer talk that had pretty much defined how their relationship had evolved.

On second thought, maybe he _should_ prepare himself for Sam growing belligerent on his financial behalf. Stupidly persistent didn't mean he was stupid enough to underestimate Sam Winchester.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE

I'm back, in May like I estimated, even if it's pretty much June at this point. This chapter is like a bad sandwich; we got fluff and Gabriel humor on either end and a giant mess of crime scene gore in the middle. That's nothing new here, but I'll say it again: this is M for more reasons than the sexy ones!

On a more light-hearted note, I'm a big fan of the second transition I wrote with Gabe talking about the agents. Probably the highlight of that late-night session of writing.

Tell me what you think as always! I've been writing other stuff while I took a break from this, but I'm used to the specific crowd Reactivity draws and I've missed you guys. I'll have more specifics on the future of this story at the end of the next chapter ;)


	17. The Eye of the Storm

**Chapter 17: The Eye of the Storm**

In hindsight, Sam should've expected Lisa to drop by.

If he'd been thinking a _little_ more clearly, he would've put two and two together and realized that there was only one person John would call upon discovering his sleepwalking son in his living room. The man never called 911 if he could help it, and his social circle of callable people in the middle of the night was largely nonexistent.

But Sam _wasn't_ thinking clearly due to a combination of Gabe and the looming pile of schoolwork currently waiting on his laptop. It was strange swinging from embarrassed delight at the turn of events with Gabe (his new _boyfriend_) to existential dread at the idea of tackling real work, and the conflict was so strong that when Lisa hammered on his door before barging in with Dean and Ben in tow, Sam nearly threw a textbook at her.

"Oh. It's just you," he sighed, managing to keep himself from slinging a copy of Modern Politics (Kevin's old book no doubt) at her when familiar shades of cobalt blue and green infiltrated his apartment.

"_Just me_?"

Sam winced, realizing his poor choice in words too late as Lisa descended upon him in a flurry of motion and medical items procured with alarming speed from her bag. The usually motherly, calm cobalt blue was riled up to a degree that boded nothing but painful trouble for Sam.

"Imagine my surprise when _John Winchester_ of all people called me last night in the middle of my shift," she said, gearing up for what sounded like a long rant if her scowl and flashing eyes were any indication. "He informed me that the son he hadn't seen in nearly two years was dripping wet in his living room _sleep-walking_ and that he wanted my help! He _then_ had the nerve to hang up on me once you snapped out of it, and I didn't hear anything more until Cas was wise enough to call me and tell me what was going on!"

She shoved a thermometer in his mouth, and Sam glanced frantically at Dean, hoping for some rescue. Surely his brother would save him from this.

But there was no rescue to be found in his brother. Dean was too busy distracting Ben and helping himself to the fridge to dare risk his neck for him, his green aura revealing that he was doing his best to keep clear of Hurricane Lisa.

_Coward, _Sam thought grouchily as Dean purposefully avoided his gaze.

"Cas called you?" he asked meekly around the thermometer, hoping he wouldn't end up smote for asking a genuine question. Sam hadn't expected that of the man, but he was quickly learning the Enochian expert was capable of much more than he let on.

"Yes," she said curtly, grabbing his face and tilting this way and that. Sam didn't like how her frown deepened the longer she studied him. "Dean was passed out, so he gave me a rundown of what happened last night, or what _he_ knew at least. He said you were in Gabe's hands, which was the only reason I didn't run out of the hospital and say screw it to my shift."

Sam blinked in surprise. Lisa was devoted to her job; she hardly ever left in the middle of work due to the nearly failsafe support system he and Dean had managed to work out for Ben. The two notable times he could think of were when Ben came down with a nasty flu last year, and when Dean had banged his head and (as always) underestimated the severity and promptly passed out at Bobby's in the middle of working on a car.

"Sleepwalking is serious Sam," she said, catching the confusion in his eyes, "Even if it's a weird brand of it in your case. I've never heard of anyone spontaneously sleepwalking so frequently and deeply. If it was completely medical, doctors would've tossed you into an MRI machine and run a thousand tests on you by now. I'm not a neurologist, but I know enough to know that they'd be very worried about your brain right now."

"But my brain's fine. Right?" Sam asked nervously. He'd been so quick to accept the sleepwalking as something in the same category as his ability to see auras (along with everyone else in his life; not that he blamed them) that he'd barely considered the possible physical implications. Was his brain slowly betraying him by going haywire in his skull?

_That wouldn't explain the accuracy of the visions, but it's like the chicken and egg. What comes first and caused the other: a traitorous brain or premonitions?_

"I don't think so," Lisa said slowly, betraying her hesitance. Sam couldn't be completely sure, but her aura suggested something similar to the chicken and egg line of thinking occupied her mind too.

The thermometer beeped, and she took it out to check the reading with a brief wrinkle of her nose.

"Mild fever," she announced, much to his displeasure, "Your adventure last night explains that. Dean, come help me cajole your brother back to bed."

"But I just got _out_ of it, and the living room still needs to be cleaned," Sam said, trying not to whine (and failing miserably) as Dean finally summoned the necessary guts to step into the living room with Ben in tow.

"We'll handle that," he said flippantly, probably hoping to make up for his earlier cowardice, "Come on Ben, help me convince your uncle he needs some rest."

"Bedtime Unca Sam!" Ben exclaimed, hurrying over to him and clambering onto the couch to peer at him with solemn dark eyes. "It's for your own good."

"That sounds very ominous and _exactly_ like something you picked up from your mother," Sam remarked, running his fingers through an impressive case of toddler bedhead. They must've come as soon as Dean had woken up; there was still a pearly sheen of sleep clinging to his nephew's soft aura.

"If you want, I can tell a bedtime story?" Ben asked seriously. The effect was ruined by his scrunched-up face when Sam playfully pushed his hair up into a messy mohawk.

Dean snorted, and Sam glared at him before picking Ben up with an affirmative response. Even if he _wasn't_ tired, he'd indulge his nephew as often as he could. He was already getting heavier, and Sam swore that he was just a little bit taller than he'd been a few weeks ago, and if that meant playing right into the trap, then so be it.

Plans, however, are liable to change, even the best ones. Sam hit the mattress and suddenly found he was more tired than he'd anticipated. Gabriel's scent and aura lingered in the sheets and combined with Ben's surprisingly good, if childish, attempt to weave a story that sounded heavily based off of Batman, Sam found his eyelids betraying him. Just a few minutes wouldn't hurt…

A few minutes turned into an hour-long nap that Ben shook him awake from with the eager news that breakfast was ready. Sam allowed himself to be groggily led out into a pristine living room, the smells of pancakes and coffee permeating the space and his brain enough to shake him fully awake.

That and the undershirt folded neatly on the counter that, judging by the amount of misty gold clinging to it, was not Sam's.

_Crap,_ he thought, reaction delayed as Lisa and Dean broke apart from their hissed whisper session over the shirt to _look_ at him. _I thought Gabe had gotten all his layers on!_

Well, he clearly hadn't, because the proof was currently displayed on the counter. Sam internally resigned himself to a grilling session as he approached his doom, cringing at the stormy green radiating off of Dean and the inquisitive cobalt blue waves that revealed Lisa had come to her own triumphant conclusions.

"I'd say I can explain, but Lisa looks like she already put two and two together," Sam sighed, plopping down onto a stool and setting Ben down in his mother's lap, hoping his presence would stave off the interrogation long enough for him to get a few bites in.

No such luck. Lisa, ever the multitasker, got Ben settled with one hand and tapped Gabe's forgotten undershirt (Sam could've _sworn_ he'd left with that on) with a grin.

"I didn't know you were going to be in _extra_ special hands last night, Sam," she teased, to which Dean groaned and shivered dramatically.

"Lis, _please_, this is bad enough," he whined, glancing down at the shirt as if it'd personally offended him. Knowing Dean, it probably had.

"We didn't even _do_ anything!" Sam exclaimed; ears hot beneath his messy hair. The mere _thought_ was embarrassing enough without present company included.

Dean groaned again, covering his ears and shaking his head as Lisa arched an eyebrow that spoke volumes paired with her trademark "As-a-mom-I-know-all" gaze.

"Ok, _look_, we shared a bed, but we didn't- you know-_do_ anything. We just made it official," he muttered, casting a look at a curious, but ultimately oblivious Ben that was currently too caught up in stealing pancakes to be troubled by the obtuse adult talk around him.

Lisa cooed at his admission, and Dean whirled around, mouth agape as he pointed an accusatory finger at him. His aura was roiling with confusion and lighter green shades of disbelief.

"You-you-I can't _believe_ this! I thought this was going to take some more time!"

Sam blinked, just as confused as his brother. Lisa interjected to clear things up.

"We've had discussions about you and Gabe," she explained as if it were perfectly normal to gossip about his love life with his emotionally constipated brother. "Dean believed that it'd take at least another week before one of you two came around, and I disagreed. Clearly, _I_ was right once more about when the boyfriend status would be solidified."

"I had _money_ on this Sammy!" Dean barreled on as if Lisa hadn't said anything. His aura was cross but in a cocky, lackadaisical way that Sam knew only showed up as that blotchy lemon yellow when he'd lost a bet he'd been hoping to win.

"Wait-you _betted_ on my love life?" he asked once his brain had caught up on everything.

"Not much. It was all in good fun," Lisa shrugged, wiping Ben's mouth right before the syrupy mess he'd slowly been collecting on his chin dripped further down onto his shirt.

"Unbelievable," Sam said as Dean moved off to tend to the coffee pot in disgruntled mutters. "There's a _killer_ on the loose, and you two are one step away from singing the kissing tree song in front of me."

"Oh, I know that song!" Ben announced, eyes brightening as he latched onto a part of the conversation he could understand. "Did you kiss Mr. Gabe in a tree?"

Lisa smothered her laughs behind a hand as Dean looked torn between egging Sam on through Ben or appearing horrified at the renewed confirmation that his baby brother was no longer single and therefore forcibly celibate.

Sam saw the desire to tease him win out in his aura a split second before Dean smirked and said, "Yeah he did, Benji."

He should've expected it after the multiple prank wars they'd waged on and off throughout their unique childhood. If there was an opportunity for harmless embarrassment, it was seized with both hands, but Dean was racking up an alarming amount of betrayals this morning. Sam would be pulling knives from his back for _days_.

_He can laugh it up now, but I haven't forgotten about him and Cas. _

Sam was a good uncle though (he _tried_ to be), so he suffered and blushed through Ben spelling out K-I-S-S-I-N-G and Lisa innocently asking him if she should help him make space for more of Gabe's shirts since the one on the counter would obviously be the first in a long line. Dean swung between teasing Sam and withdrawing into an existential crisis as he reprocessed the implications of the new relationship, all as he dosed himself up with enough coffee to resurrect a corpse.

"He's a bit upset he slept through last night," Lisa explained as she ushered him back to his room. His first nap wasn't enough to satisfy her, and her resolute aura showed she wasn't budging on her bed rest order. "Which I can't blame him for. I mean, Cas driving the _Impala_? And then you getting together with Gabe? I thought Dean was going to have a coronary when he woke up. That's why he's drinking enough coffee to keep him awake for the rest of the week."

Sam snickered at the idea, letting himself be directed to bed. Gabe's aura lingered still, which was the _only_ reason he even let the bed rest happen. It was too sickeningly sappy to even think to himself, but a small part of Sam found some comfort in the wispy gold and pastel traces of Gabe. He missed the P.I more than he'd expected.

Maybe it was the newness of the relationship or the horrible vision he'd had the night before, but Sam found himself more than a little worried about Gabe's wellbeing. He'd gone to walk into what had essentially been turned into a temporary devil's den, and then was expected to go through the rest of the day wrestling with the LPD and FBI and whoever else decided to hop onto the investigation. Sam knew that a P.I's worth was tenuous enough in the eyes of "real law enforcement" and Gabe would have to prove himself over once again as the agencies regrouped and reformed the taskforce.

It was _infuriating_.

However much Sam had come to recognize that there were some notable exceptions in the LPD, he'd still never been able to _fully_ let go of his distrust in the system. His pre-law degree and personal research hadn't done much to dispel the preachings John had ingrained in him of the incompetence of the police because there _was_ a grain of truth to it all. The justice system was imperfect, and the police were a shining monument to all of its terrible flaws.

Still, Sam persevered and didn't change his mind about being a lawyer, because he wasn't going to let a broken system stop him from doing what he'd set out to do all those years ago when he'd been young and naïve and blind to why his father hated cops so much.

Sam suspected that Gabe held the same sentiment when it came to being a P.I, because why else would he continue to subject himself to the scorn of the police? They both wanted to help bring about justice in their own way, damn the consequences and obstacles against them. It made Sam ridiculously proud of Gabe. He didn't know much about his childhood, but he knew enough to know that instead of letting the broken foster system get to him, he'd gone and entered a completely _different_ system with its own set of flaws and carved out his place within it.

Sam couldn't fathom why. There was the initial (and depressing) thought that Gabe had become a P.I because he'd grown up to be accustomed to systems failing him and didn't know _how_ to live any other way, but Sam hoped this wasn't the case(or at least, the main reason for Gabe's choice of career). Gabe was courageous and stubborn-overwhelmingly so-and Sam didn't think he'd let his past control him that much.

Not that he knew much of it. Sam was well aware that as of right now, Gabe knew much more about _his_ past that he knew of Gabe's and that what he _did_ know left him with more questions than answers. Knowing Enochian was the biggest secret, but there were also the darker secrets he'd only gotten hints at, like just how much Gabe bounced around houses as a child and the way he'd been abandoned so callously on the doorsteps of a church.

But Sam could wait. Patience and restraint came the most naturally to him out of the many qualities he possessed, and he knew Gabe would reveal his secrets in due time. There was always a flicker in his aura whenever Sam let him in on a little more of his past. Something like empathy, and a hidden yearning to unleash some of the things he spent so long running from.

Lisa, Ben, and Dean left around noon. Dean had to pick up Cas who, for some ungodly reason, was _at_ the crime scene (Dean said that Cas had gone willingly, but both brothers had scowled because there were _definitely_ bureaucratic machinations behind Cas being there). Lisa and Ben were going to go home and relax before she had to go back to work in the evening, and it was only then that Sam realized it was Friday and Ben wasn't in school for a reason.

Preschool (and the rest of the school systems) had been canceled until Monday on the grounds that a vicious serial killer was still on the loose, which Ben was thrilled about. Preschool, he said, was fun because of the people, but _boring_ because he already knew _everything_ they were teaching him there except for tying his shoes, but who needed to know how to tie shoes anyway?

The adults had shared an unspoken conversation with their eyes (and Sam's added ability to read auras) above Ben's head as he chattered about how the books were too short and how the teacher never believed him when he said he knew the _whole_ multiplication table up to 12. Sam had known Ben was smart-smarter than even he'd been at that age-and he knew that Lisa and Dean were aware on some level of their son's unexpected brightness, but it had never occurred to any of them that they might actually have to _do_ something about it besides letting Ben read bigger books when he was home.

Well, _Sam_ knew they'd have to take some more proactive measures. Seeing auras allowed him to come to conclusions quickly, and he'd known even before Ben began to dream of fire and long, dark hallways he had no business walking down that his nephew was a little different. Not in a bad way (_never_ in a bad way), but different in a way that not even the Winchester curse could explain. Winchesters were _lots_ of things, but the touch of genius was not one of them

"He must have got it from you," Dean remarked before they left. "He certainly didn't get those brains from _me_."

"Maybe he just got it on his own," Sam said, watching as Ben frowned down at the knots Lisa was trying to undo from his shoelaces (another failed attempt at shoe-tying) and tugged on his dark fringe. "Who says we have to get everything from our family?"

Once they were gone, Sam spent the afternoon working and making valiant attempts at not contacting Gabe. He knew the P.I was working hard, and while Sam felt useless sitting out on the crime sidelines, he was both too scared of Lisa (who had that nurse/mother sixth sense of when someone tried to defy her orders) and still a bit too tired and achy to go out and try to make some sense of the case by following other leads, like the Enochian graffiti. That last sleepwalking session had been on a different level than the others, so Sam just worked on catching up with what schoolwork was available since campus, unlike the lower level schools, looked to be closed indefinitely.

If he catnapped in between and spent too long staring at Gabe's contact in his phone, that was no one's business but his. The only witnesses were the Batman and accompanying Iron Man figurine Ben had left ("To make you feel better") and Sam was sure they wouldn't snitch.

Gabe's aura eventually began to fade, much to Sam's displeasure, leaving him feeling antsy. By five o'clock, he decided that Lisa's bedrest orders were fulfilled as a typical workday ran between 9-5 (the reasoning was flimsy at best, but satisfactory enough in Sam's mind) and that it was time that he dragged Gabe away from the case through the surefire method of food. It wasn't clingy if he applied the 9-5 logic to _Gabe_, and that wasn't as flimsy as his previous usage since he was pretty sure Gabe had gotten a timecard to go along with that gun he carried around.

Sam did his best not to reflect on the near breakdown he'd had in the tub the night before as he showered. Now that he thought about it, that was the _second_ time he'd had a less than friendly experience in the tub and he didn't want to add a third to it.

Leaving the bathroom with one last wary gaze, Sam channeled his restless energy by pacing the apartment as he dialed Gabe. Kevin hadn't come home all day (a phenomenon Sam was no longer surprised by) so he had free reign to walk around and let his body go on autopilot as many people did when they became invested in a phone call.

He sat on the counter as he listened to Gabe complain about the FBI and flopped onto the couch and frowned at Gabe's admission that he'd lost track of time. Gabe sounded weary from his day, but still had the energy to crack jokes, which helped to ease Sam's worries. That, and the promise of a proper dinner.

With excitement coursing through his veins, Sam ran back to his closet and sunk into a fierce, but ultimately quick internal debate as he gazed within.

The black leather jacket hadn't been worn since he'd broken up with Jess, but Sam hardly gave that era of his life more thought beyond the cursory observation. Once he fixated on what _Gabe_ would think when he saw him in it, it was easy to blow past any reservations and pull it out.

Sam shrugged it on, tense for just a second before exhaling in relief. The weight was a comfort across his shoulders instead of the burden it'd turned into towards the end with Jess, and that made all the difference.

…

Outside, the sky was cloudless, bright with city lights and a few faint twinkles Sam could delude himself into believing were visible stars. He walked for much of the way, only riding the subway for the last leg of the journey. After holing up in his apartment all day, the onslaught of people and their accompanying auras threatened to start a spiking headache Sam didn't want to affect dinner. Everyone was racing to get back home before it got any later, and as such, it was truly _packed_ underground.

When Sam emerged on the edge of downtown, the streets weren't nearly as full as they were on typical Friday nights. There were still some people about, but for Lawrence, it was nigh on empty. The lack of public activity had been in the making for a while, but it was depressing to see that not even the beginning of the weekend could defeat people's fears.

He spotted Gabe's car parked a bit down the street from the small Italian place they'd settled on. Sam hurried his pace, passing by dusky and dim auras dampened by fear to reach the potent gold one he could see waiting behind the windowfront.

_Gabe really has no business having an aura that strong._

"I hope I haven't kept you waiting for long-oof!"

Sam hadn't expected the hug tackle, but he returned it with vigor, enjoying the way he could tuck his chin on the crown of Gabe's head and breath in his scent.

"Not too long," Gabe mumbled into his chest before pulling back and planting a lightning-fast peck on his cheek. "You look _great_. Did you sleep the day away?"

"Sort of," Sam said evasively as they sat down. "But you look like you have things to tell me, and I know my day was much more boring than yours, so let it out."

That was all the permission he needed. They nibbled on bread (or rather, Sam did; Gabe was too busy _talking_ to eat) as Gabe expounded the horrors of the day: interagency cooperation and paperwork. There was a lot of drama and pettiness and paperwork that went on behind the scenes, and Gabe wasn't a fan of "the boring slog while waiting for some sort of epiphany."

The actual crime scene was largely skimmed over. Both of them already knew of it, and Gabe only spoke about it once in connection to the sewer theory they'd been developing.

"There's a manhole in the alley behind the building," Gabe said, slowing down a bit to take a long sip of a beer he'd ordered. It was odd seeing him drink in public instead of going for some sugary fruit punch, but after a long day of work, Sam figured he needed it. "I checked before leaving, but then a million things hit me at once after I left, and it didn't occur to me to have someone _test_ it until I was back at the station. So I had to persuade everyone to go _back_ with some luminol, which was annoying as fuck. Bela was giving me hell about it and the FBI was skeptical, but I made them all look like fools when that damned thing came back positive for blood."

"So that confirms it," Sam said triumphantly, glad that one of his visions had led to a useful real-life development before a sudden thought occurred to him. "Wait. This means he's like an unofficial fifth member of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles."

Gabe began to choke on his beer, and Sam had to take it from him as he began to wheeze with laughter. Of course, their waiter chose to come around at this time and looked very confused as Sam began to list of possible Renaissance artist names they could christen The Crucifier thanks to the power of Google.

"I can't _believe_ that didn't occur to me earlier," Sam lamented after they'd gotten themselves together enough to put their order in with the poor waiter. "I blame my nephew. He's got my head filled with Marvel and DC and trying to find books both age-appropriate for a 4-year old _and_ interesting enough to satisfy him."

"Oh? Do tell, Sam. Is Ben's genius blossoming?"

"In a nutshell," Sam sighed before explaining what had gone down that morning.

Gabe laughed at Lisa and Dean's reaction to them getting together ("I _knew_ I had forgotten something!") and then listened to the descriptions of the intelligence that couldn't be contained by preschool.

"Does it have anything to do with, you know, the _Winchester_ thing?" he asked, waving his hand in a complex manner to supplement the vagueness of his words.

"I don't think so, but maybe? It's hard to say because he's so young. He doesn't see-_stuff_-like I do, but he must sense _something_. He has this way of uncannily picking up on what people are thinking."

"A telepath!" Gabe exclaimed immediately, face lighting up at the idea.

Sam blanched at the idea of Ben reading _any_ of their minds.

"No, I don't think so. Ben's never said anything word for word, and he's honest in that way kids are. He told me about the-_dreams_-so he would've told me about being able to read minds."

"Hmmm. So maybe it's a less specific type of telepathy. Like he can get people's general impressions? And then uses his natural intelligence to fill in the blanks. It probably comes so naturally to him that he doesn't even know it's something not everyone can do," Gabe posited, not willing to let go of the telepath idea.

"Maybe. It'd explain why he can read big books but can't tie his shoes. Remembering the meanings of words doesn't require kinetic muscle memory," Sam mused, disgruntled at the fact that there was perhaps some merit to Gabe's outlandish theory that Ben was some kind of _telepath_. The term conjured up images of X-men and people messing around with other's minds Harry Potter style, not his precious nephew grabbing someone's hand and peering at them with dark eyes that knew just a bit too much.

"But you have a point. He probably doesn't even know," Sam sighed, rubbing his fingers over his temple. "I didn't know not everyone could see auras until I was…five? I asked Dean if my aura was green like this, and he was _very_ confused."

"Ben's almost five, isn't he?"

"Yeah, in April," Sam said, smiling at the thought before humming. "Maybe by then, it'll become more apparent."

"You'll just have to ask him like you did with the dreams. Otherwise, Ben will get very confused like you did when you were a kid," Gabe declared, draining the last of his beer, "I'm sure he'd tell his favorite uncle."

"I'm his _only_ uncle."

Conversation veered into the mundane when their food arrived, or at least, as mundane as conversation _could_ be between them when their lives were defined by more incredulous events and occurrences than the average person. Sam gave himself permission to whine only a little about his stupid homework, and Gabe talked about how many times he'd visited each state. Much to Sam's embarrassment, it appeared as if his groggy, tired side had expressed extreme interest in his travels the other day.

Of course, that day had been the day Bela and her reluctant posse had dropped by, so it was no surprise that in the end, they swung back to talk about the case. This didn't stop Sam from counting dinner as a successful endeavor in relaxing normalcy; their plates were mostly clean, and Gabe looked relaxed in a way he hadn't all week.

"…so of _course_ I had to tell Bela off because I'm not even getting _paid_ to work the case right now and she _still_ had the nerve to try and turn the social tide on me…"

Distracted by Gabe's aura (which was nothing new) and his pretty eyes (also not new) and the sound of his voice (a newer development), it took Sam a moment to register what Gabe was actually _saying, _and when he did, it didn't make him happy.

"You're not getting _paid_?" he asked incredulously, snapping out of the pleasant fog his mind had descended into by watching the way the gold curled around Gabe's arms and shoulders.

Gabe stopped speaking abruptly before wincing. His aura revealed in shades of pastel blue and chalky purples that while he hadn't _wanted_ to let it slip, he'd been resigned to speaking of it one way or another.

_Because he knows trying to hide it from me would be pointless._

"I mean, _technically_ I'll be getting paid soon, but it's currently stuck in the system?"

"_Gabe_."

His tone was somewhere between the one he used when Ben pitched one of his rare fits of pique and the tone he used when someone hadn't been listening to him for a long time and he was tired of it. The mix halted Gabe's meager attempts at distraction and encouraged him to quickly explain his hourly contract and the woes of paperwork and that he _would_ be paid, but right now he wasn't _exactly_ getting paid.

"This is unacceptable," Sam stated firmly once Gabe wrapped up explaining the dilemma.

On the outside, he was doing his best to project calmness, but on the inside, Sam was boiling over with righteous indignation at the whole situation. How _dare_ they beg for Gabe to come back and help them and then _not pay him_?

Gabe must've seen past the thin veneer of tranquility on his face because he darted his hands out to grasp his with a placating smile and words thick with practiced, charming calm.

"Look, it's not that big of a deal. I've been wrapping up my assistance on some smaller cases, so it's not like I'm hurting financially. And since the whole bullpen now knows I'm not being paid, I'm sure my paperwork is now being expedited post-haste before the fuss gets too big."

Logically, Sam knew that Gabe was speaking sense, but this was _Gabe_. He wasn't going to stand by and let him be screwed over by the LPD (which he was feeling a renewed bitterness towards), not even if it was temporary.

Maybe they'd only been officially dating for a day, but Sam _knew_ Gabe, and knowing someone in the way he knew Gabe meant that he was on the list of people to take care of. He'd earned that spot long ago, but it was only now that Sam truly grasped the means he would resort to for Gabe.

He couldn't verbalize any of this to Gabe. It'd just upset the P.I, who would only proclaim for the thousandth time that he could take care of himself and that Sam didn't need to do anything for him. So, Sam would say nothing on the subject for now, but he knew deep down that Gabe had already won him over in the ways that mattered: loyalty and, dare he say it, devotion intense enough that he'd resort to the bloodier methods he knew if it meant keeping Gabe safe.

_Dean's going to be so mad when he figures out I'm completely whipped for Gabe._

"I knew you'd be upset about it," Gabe sighed when Sam didn't relax under his admittedly comforting touch.

"Yeah, because they're not _paying_ you!" Sam exploded, just barely managing to keep his voice down to an acceptable degree since they were still in the restaurant. He couldn't say what he wanted to (_that he'd do anything he asked of him_) so he channeled his aggression into the topic at hand he could speak on.

"Not for long! There's no need to go on a crusade," Gabe rushed to say, his face a touch nervous.

"Highly doubtful," Sam muttered, grasping Gabe's hands tightly as he tried to rein it in. The P.I had only seen him truly upset a handful of times, and Sam knew he could be forceful. "You put up with a lot of shit you shouldn't have to."

"Perhaps," Gabe said with a half-shrug that showed how _used_ to it all he was.

He reached out a hand to grasp Sam's chin, tilting it just enough that he felt compelled to look Gabe in the eye.

"But it's alright. It's not the worst thing I've endured, and right now I'd much rather focus on you."

Sam harrumphed as Gabe pecked his cheek. It wasn't enough to fully satisfy him, but he'd back off. If this was what Gabe wanted of him, then Sam could calm down.

_For now._

They split a desert, forks clanking together in an immature fight that Gabe started no matter how much he tried to argue that he hadn't. It was childish, but as Sam stole a forkful of chocolate tiramisu, he couldn't bring himself to care.

"I've got lots of sweets at my place anyway, so I can concede on this particular battlefield," Gabe said, sweeping his arm in a mock-gracious motion that involved his fork coming perilously close to Sam's eyes.

"Oh, we're going back there?" Sam asked innocently, hiding the thrill the idea sent through him. It wasn't as if it'd be his first time there, but it would be _different_ now.

"If you want," Gabe replied, his level-headed exterior largely matched by his aura with the exception of a blue-green blur of nervousness. "I'd say we should go to a bar to round the night off, but you're too young. And what with the teensy weensy serial killer problem Lawrence has going on, we can't do much else."

"Ah yes, our nemesis, Fra Angelico," Sam said gravely. It was the last Renaissance-era name they'd been discussing before they ordered dinner and the freshest in his mind.

"That wily old rascal Fra," Gabe replied just as seriously before dissolving into a fit of giggles so hard that his eyes crinkled.

Sam couldn't resist joining in, and that's how the waiter found them upon returning to give them the check: two mostly grown men wheezing over an empty dessert plate and the name Fra.

"We might just need therapy," Gabe sighed after collecting himself long enough to take care of the bill. Sam would've argued with him about it, but between his resolute aura and the look in his eye, he knew Gabe wouldn't budge.

"Probably. My school guidance counselor sure thought so," Sam said, frowning at the memory of the nosy woman that had been convinced Dean was an immoral excuse for a brother, yet had remained comfortably blind to the _real_ problematic Winchester wasting away in the family house.

"Mine too," Gabe admitted before tilting his head, "And I went to _several_ schools."

They exchanged another look before simultaneously rushing out of the restaurant and preventing the establishment from enduring _another_ round of laughter on their part.

"It's _cold_ out here," Gabe gasped between laughs, latching himself onto Sam's side in the blink of an eye.

Not that Sam minded; in fact, he'd been hoping something similar might happen. Sam used to have no problem with making advances, but his romantic rustiness led him to overthink things a bit when it came to Gabe. It didn't help that he really, _really_ didn't want to mess this up either.

"It's not so bad," Sam said casually, draping his arm over Gabe's shoulders and tugging him closer. The gold rush of his aura was instant, warming his entire arm and running down his shoulder in welcome waves of color.

"To you maybe," Gabe grumbled, snaking his arm around his waist, "Must be nice to-"

Sam's phone began to buzz insistently in his back pocket, distracting Gabe from finishing his thought.

"I'm not getting it," Sam said immediately (curse whoever was interrupting them now of all times!), squeezing Gabe pointedly.

"It could be important," Gabe pointed out, and before Sam could blink the P.I had whipped it out of his pocket and eyed the caller ID.

"Oh, it's Kevin!" Gabe said, smiling before answering. "Woohoo! This is Gabriel Milton, P.I and consultant speaking to inform you that you're currently interrupting a _very_ successful first date in progress."

"_Gabriel_," Sam hissed, shocked and embarrassed at the sheer gall in the P.I's voice. He hadn't had _nearly_ enough beer to be this bold.

The volume rose on the other end of the call; not in anger, but as if multiple people were talking to each other. Gabe's mischievous expression faded into something more serious as he listened, leaving it up to Sam to guide them towards the Beetle.

"Uh_-huh. Uh-huh_."

Sam didn't like the sound of Gabe's voice, or the turn his aura was taking. Luckily, the street was empty enough that Sam could sigh dramatically and not feel too embarrassed by the moroseness beginning to seep into his mood.

_Well, it was good while it lasted._

And that was the real kicker. Sam had naively hoped that perhaps life would pause long enough for them to have the rest of the night to themselves without any interruptions because the date had been _good_. He didn't think he'd let himself get his hopes this high since…well, since he'd originally met Gabe and hoped that they'd still have _something_ once the case was over with.

Sam wasn't sure if his mild sexuality crisis or the obtuseness he'd developed towards romantic overtures due to Jess had blinded him so thoroughly was more responsible when it came to how he'd initially perceived Gabe. He felt like a moron of the highest degree that he'd taken _this_ long to get it together; only someone really stupid could've made all the excuses he'd made, but Sam supposed that was why the hindsight saying existed.

_Considering how easily I got over the fact I can also be into guys, I only have the latter to blame. Maybe Lisa had a point when she said Jess messed me up more than I'd let on._

"On our way," Gabe said before hanging up and pinning him with a _look_.

Sam studied Gabe for a brief moment before exhaling noisily. _That_ sort of look meant that while no one was grievously injured or dying, they were still going to rush off to their next location with a haste that would leave him clutching his seatbelt.

"At least let me fold up my legs properly before you go zipping through evening traffic," Sam grumbled, already flashing ahead to a dizzying drive and a cacophony of angry honking in their wake.

Gabe's face shifted to brief confusion before dissolving into a smile bright enough to light the near-empty street they stood in. It caught Sam off guard because he didn't think what he'd said was enough to warrant having the _sun_ smile at him

"I like it when you do that," Gabe beamed, tugging him down into a bruising kiss that left Sam short-circuiting on the sidewalk.

"Do what?" he asked breathlessly, inhaling Gabe's scent and aura. It was like standing in sunlight, and his warmth and spice was a comfort in the too-quiet city that surrounded them.

"Stay two steps ahead without me even having to say anything. It makes my mad scientist brain feel validated."

Sam barked out a laugh before kissing his forehead, a startling amount of fondness welling up in his chest. He'd only known Gabe a few weeks, but life before him was already a distant, foggy memory Sam couldn't dreg up without difficulty and a large lack of enthusiasm.

"Is validation sort of kink I should be made aware of?" he teased as he nudged Gabe towards the Beetle.

"Who doesn't like a little bit of praise?" Gabe retorted, quick on the uptake with a cheeky wink that Sam rolled his eyes at.

"Where are we dashing off to tonight to rescue Kevin?" he asked once they were pulling away from the curb. With his legs tucked in and the glove compartment opened so he could help himself to some candy, Sam tried to convince himself that he would survive the drive.

Gabe took a turn at a velocity his high school physics textbook would argue was impossible on the earthly plane, shattering Sam's half-hearted attempts at tricking his brain into believing a drive with Gabe could be normal.

_Note to self: teach Gabe how to drive without making GTA look like a joke in comparison._

"Actually, Kevin doesn't need rescuing this time around. He rightfully assumed that you were still conducting your liaison with me, so there's a whole little group of college-aged kiddos gathered at your place," Gabe replied, somehow unaffected by the insane turn they'd just made.

"Liaison makes us sound like we're spies or something," Sam said, unwrapping a chocolate and quickly chewing it before another turn could lodge it down his throat. Dean would never let him live it down if he died by errant mini Kit Kat.

"Kevin's word, not mine," Gabe shrugged, "Charlie's there along with Meg, and they think that with the current combined brainpower assembled at your place plus us, we can come up with a name for The Crucifier."

They'd used so many names for the killer that it took Sam a moment to register the significance behind Gabe's words. They weren't talking about some silly nickname like Fra Angelico, Unofficial Fifth Member of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, or FBI lingo like "unsub" or even awful nicknames journalists come up with like The Crucifier.

_A name other than Death._

Sam hoped his shiver went unnoticed as he asked, "A _name_? Like a real name, surname and all?"

Gabe nodded, practically bouncing out of his seat. His riotous aura swirled with an array of excited, swirling colors, at odds with the strained composure of his face.

"I know it's hard to believe, but I think they're onto something. They certainly _sounded_ like it over the phone."

"The _kids_," Sam muttered, slouching down in his seat (as much as he could with his gargantuan stature) and crossly opening another Kit Kat. "I told them to leave it to the authority."

"Have you looked in a mirror lately?"

Gabe yelped as Sam hurled a piece of candy at him, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender that he quickly ended when Sam yelled at him to _keep his hands on the wheel you're the diver for God's sake!_

"I'm just saying, you're what, a year or two older than them? Charlie and Meg are older than _you_ for sure," Gabe said, rubbing his cheek and shooting him a mild affronted look. "They have just as much right to want to help as you do, even if it is highly unprofessional of me to resort to this."

"That's operating under the assumption that it's only _just_ a year or two that separates me from them," Sam replied sourly, leaning his head against the window and looking out at the city. The emptiness was like a gaping void, making itself aware with every darkened window and unchallenged illegal lane change Gabe made.

It was one thing when it had just been him and Gabe. Sam had grown a bit more nervous when Dean had been roped in and Cas had been drawn in deeper, but that was largely manageable. But now The Crucifier was pressing in on everyone, forcing them into flight or fight.

Flight into the subways, seeking the warm press of strangers in a fearful herd, or fight in the form of indignant college students reaching out through mutual of mutual and seeking out their own answers. Sam would've been impressed at the tenacity his friends were showing if the stakes weren't so damn high.

He'd been trained for situations like this, but all the others had was each other, a Winchester as a link to the madness, and their own limited personal experiences to keep them going.

"Hey."

Sam glanced down at the hand grasping his thigh before following it up to Gabe, who was looking at him sidelong with gold eyes made luminous by the flashing strips of streetlights.

"You're not responsible for them, Sam," Gabe said, somehow cutting through all of his worries with a few well-placed words. "They're their own people, making their own choices. Just like you did when I asked you at the Roadhouse if you wanted a ride to school, only to have you lead me all the way to Castiel I'm-the-sole-Enochian-expert-in-Lawrence Novak."

A laugh bubbled out of Sam before he could help it, and Gabe smiled before squeezing his thigh.

"The choices have been made here Sam, and they're beyond your control. You just go to go with it now."

"I suppose so," Sam acquiesced before looking up at the road and bolting upright, "Gabe, the _car _-!"

"Sonofa-motherfu-_agh_!" Gabe aborted swearing in his panic as he swerved out of the way, grip still iron tight on his leg. "Why was that dude going so _slow_ anyway-ouch!"

"That's for not looking at the road," Sam tsked, crossing his arms as the butterscotch bounced off his ear and spiraled off behind them.

"But you're so pretty Sam-_ow_, stop throwing my own candy at me!"

"_Eyes on the road_!"

Squabbling predictably broke out shortly afterward, as letting one of Gabe's driving mishaps go unaddressed was simply not _done_. But since Gabe managed to drive reasonably with his hand unmoved from his leg, Sam didn't let it get too heated even if he should've. Perhaps Gabe drove better when he was physically aware he had a passenger that wanted to survive the drive.

And since Sam had let _his_ hand drift to curl around Gabe's leg, Gabe didn't seem to put too much heart in the arguing either. Clutching the seatbelt got tedious, and Gabe's thigh didn't cut into his palm nearly as much when Sam gripped it as the seatbelt had.

Neither of them mentioned the touch, choosing to wax on about anything but the location of their respective hands. Their silent acceptance was acknowledgment enough in the face of the impending development in the case.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE

The boys deserved a date before they get back into the fray of things. Case developments are up ahead for them, and no one's going to get rest for a while! There's a serial killer to catch after all.

It's been a long June for me so far, and writing hasn't come as easy as I wanted it to, but hopefully July will be better.


	18. A Rose By Any Other Name

**Chapter 18: A Rose By Any Other Name**

"Oh look, it's the happy newlyweds!"

A smattering of applause and cheers broke out upon Kevin's announcement. Sam groaned and hid his face in embarrassment while Gabriel, having gone in ahead of him, took a dramatic bow and flourished under the attention.

"Thank you, thank you! We appreciate the well wishes."

"I hate all of you," Sam sighed, cheeks red as he shut the door behind him.

Gabriel took off like a shot to mingle with the people that had gathered under his roof, allowing Sam the opportunity to toe off his shoes and accustom himself to the influx of auras. None of them were unfamiliar, but some were more easily recognizable than others. Sam could sense Kevin, Adam, Charlie, and Jo of all people gathered in the living room, as well as a smaller, less familiar aura down the hall. There were two other auras in the kitchen that took him a little longer to identify, but between the savory smell of cooking food and the wisps of purple in the air, it wasn't too hard to guess who could be in his kitchen, no matter how unbelievable it seemed.

"No way," Sam said, stepping in to see Meg sitting on the counter and Benny cooking up what looked like a mountain of food. "I thought you two had purposefully fallen off the face of the Earth?"

Meg smirked, waving an idle hand in greeting at him while Benny looked up from a simmering pot with a smile. They both looked good given the circumstances, but Meg was a true shock. She looked much better than she had in the days before the Roadhouse had burned down, with fuller cheeks and a slightly softer edge to the harsh hues that characterized her.

"Writing letters got boring, and the gangs are so obsessed with each other right now that we can afford to be here tonight. Marriage suits you, Sammy," she said with a lecherous grin.

"Don't tease him too much, Meg," Benny admonished before Sam could snap back with some kind of embarrassed retort at the marriage comment (Meg hadn't lost that acidic tongue of hers). "You _are_ sitting on the man's counter."

"That I am," she drawled, crossing her legs and leaning back. "And I shall continue to sit here since there's a gathering of _children_ in the living room."

"You're not much older than them," Sam pointed out, blatantly ignoring the fact he had this very debate in the car earlier with Gabe.

"Doesn't stop them from being children."

Sam rolled his eyes and walked out before he could get roped into an argument with her, but he did so with a smile on his face. It was good to see her, even if she'd been a wild card of a coworker that had caused more than one headache in their days at the Roadhouse.

"Why am I not surprised you two are doing schoolwork?" Sam remarked as he properly entered the living room and stood over Kevin, who had claimed the floor with Adam and their alarming amount of textbooks and coursework.

"Education stops for no one, not even an insane serial killer," Adam chirped, dragging his highlighter with the practiced motion of a weary expert over his meticulous notes.

"It exhausts me just _looking_ at them," Jo said from the couch. Beside her, Charlie hummed with agreement, sipping what Sam suspected wasn't her first cup of coffee if the jagged, wobbling edges in her jewel-toned aura were any indicator.

"Then don't look," Kevin said mildly, flicking through flashcards with one hand while he scrolled through his laptop with the other.

"Ah, the joys of school," Gabe sighed from the armchair. He'd taken the liberties of shrugging off his coat and shoes and threw his legs over the arm in such a casual manner that, if his holster hadn't given him away as an adult, he could've passed off as one of the people around him.

"I'm glad mine got canceled," Jo countered before looking up at Sam. "How's it been, stranger?"

Sam couldn't help but feel guilty as he looked at her. It wasn't blatantly evident in her sea-blue aura, but he could pick up on the undercurrents of emotion that ran beneath the surface. Stress and exhaustion colored the once warm, bubbly hues of teal dark, casting a shadow that matched the faint circles under her eyes.

"Hey, none of that," Jo chided, sounding enough like Ellen in her tone that Sam didn't immediately reply like he wanted to as she stood. "It's been a long week for all of us, and I know you cared about the Roadhouse too."

"Yeah. But it's still a shitty situation, and I could've called," Sam mumbled as Jo tightly hugged him. Her perceptiveness was welcomed tonight, as he hadn't been sure how to broach or navigate the topic of the Roadhouse when there were others around. He didn't even like thinking about it himself whenever the old restaurant he'd spent so long working in crossed his mind.

"Like I said, it's been a long week for us all," Jo repeated, her mouth set firmly as she looked up at him. "Now, sit with your boyfriend before your shadow makes Adam stab you in the ankles."

Sam blinked before looking down at Adam, who was indeed now sitting in his shadow and _didn't_ look happy about it.

"Whoops. My bad, man," he said sheepishly, pulling a chuckling Gabe up off the armchair so they could squeeze in together, with Gabe half on top of him and their limbs a tangled miss. Charlie subtly got up with her coffee to sit at the breakfast bar, where an impressive hardware set up was up and running.

"So, how long have you guys been here anyway?" Sam asked as he looked around the full apartment. He could moderately gauge when people arrived by the decay of their auras in the air, but it wasn't an exact measurement system, and getting the full story from their auras would require a lot of staring. Sometimes, it was better to just ask.

"Well, I came over with Adam and Kevin a few hours ago," Jo explained, gesturing to the pair laboring away on the floor. "Kevin's been conspiring with Meg for a while, and this whole shindig was born when Alfie got Kevin in contact with Charlie. Alfie's brother works in the LPD, so he knew stuff that Alfie told Adam, but I'm _still_ not sure how that whole connection works out."

"I've come across Alfie on campus a few times. He somehow worked out that I sometimes help the police and he knew Kevin was trying to get certain people together, so he facilitated our meeting," Charlie clarified without looking up from her laptop. "It's ironic that he's the only one not here."

_Ironic indeed. _Sam thought, thinking of the hazy recollection he had of Zeke's brother. He'd only seen him once that day at the library, but his link in the chain of mutual gathered made sense and tied everything together. Everyone else's connections he either knew about or could be logically deduced.

_Except for the person sleeping in Kevin's room, _Sam thought, frowning faintly in the direction of the hall. Entering the living room had bettered his position to read the aura and determine where the person was, but he still couldn't say for sure who it was.

"I didn't expect Benny to come with Meg, but I'm glad he did because now we get to benefit from his cooking," Kevin remarked, sniffing in the direction of the kitchen as his aura colored sienna with hunger.

"I drive better than Meg," Benny explained, "And I wanted to cook in a different kitchen. I got tired of cooking in mine all the time."

"The career cook has spoken," Adam proclaimed, jabbing his highlighter in the air. "Everyone, hide your kitchens before Benny breaks in and starts _cooking_ in them."

"He's already victimized mine!" Kevin exclaimed, throwing a hand over his forehead and slumping back dramatically. "Sam, I did my best to hold him off, but his cooking prowess was just too much. Guard your boyfriend's kitchen!"

"I'll guard it with my life," Sam replied dryly as Gabe and Charlie lost it at the pair's antics.

"You two are unbelievable," Jo sighed before standing. "I wouldn't joke the cook right when he's about to serve dinner."

Even Meg looked openly amused as Kevin and Adam paused before simultaneously scrambling to the kitchen to grovel for Benny's mercy, to which the cook made a big show of thinking it over. However, Sam could see in his navy-blue aura that Benny had never been offended by their jokes.

"It's a full house tonight," Gabe remarked as they were left alone in the living room. "Has your apartment ever held this many people before?"

"Only once when we moved in," Sam said, tilting his head a bit to make room for Gabe's head when he settled in on his shoulder. "Or maybe that day when Talbot dropped by."

"Quite a different crowd from this one," Gabe pointed out.

Sam made a noncommittal noise, watching as the unexpected guests fought over bread rolls and who would sit where and how to keep Charlie's set up safe from the exuberant motions made for food. Their auras intermingled with proximity, some more than others depending on the people involved. Kevin and Adam's were more mixed than Jo and Charlie's due to familiarity, and Meg's kept itself largely aloof except for some timid mingling with Benny's. They were a motley bunch, but they all meshed together in a surprisingly cohesive way that led to a pleasant coloring of the apartment's atmosphere.

"There's someone in Kevin's room," Sam said, pitching his voice lower as his eyes skimmed over the familiar forest greens of Kevin's aura. There wasn't any sign in it that gave him any clue to who the mystery person might be.

"Can you tell who?" Gabe asked, voice just as low.

"Nope," Sam murmured, raising a hand to play with Gabe's hair as he let himself _look_ in the direction of the hall.

There was a faint trace of beige in the air, a bit like a shimmery dust cloud. It was too deteriorated for it to be useful, but if Sam had to take a gander, the beige had once been an earth-toned aura.

"Whoever it is, they've been here for a while," he said, content to relax and curl around Gabe for a few more minutes. "But considering everyone's links here, I'd say it's more likely to not be a stranger."

"That's still pretty useful to be able to pick out," Gabe said, gold aura spreading out to envelop Sam as he tilted his head upward to look at him with a cheeky smile. "You'd make a good P.I, but I suppose that sort of skill would be good in a courtroom too."

"Having a built-in lie detector will make me an excellent lawyer. It's a shame I can't exactly _advertise_ it," Sam replied with a put-out sigh.

They managed to unwind and continued to act "lovey-dovey" as Adam put it for as long as the others ate, but eventually, not even the lure of good food could keep them from the original intent. Sam could see it in their auras and their eyes: in some manner or another, everyone gathered in the apartment were dead set on helping in their own way, and hopefully producing the one thing that could give them a much-needed edge over the killer.

Charlie was the first done, practically scarfing down her dinner before cracking her knuckles and sitting in front of her laptop with an expression equal parts eager and determined.

"Gabe told me that you guys have a flash drive that'll be useful. Can I have it now?" she asked, turning on her stool to face Sam with an expectant expression.

Sam glanced at Gabe, who shrugged a shoulder and made a face that he interpreted to mean something along the lines of "get the flash drive but don't say a single word about how we got it."

"Sure," he said, gently disentangling himself from Gabe and getting up to fetch it from where he'd hidden it in his room.

As he did, he passed Kevin's room. The door was slightly ajar, enough for Sam to glance inside and see that a girl was asleep on top of the covers, her back to the door as she curled up around a pillow.

Sam's first (and wildly improbably) thought was that Kevin had somehow gotten laid, but he immediately discarded the idea when the vague familiarity to the aura finally clicked in his head, providing a name that matched the dark hair that he could see and the slightly old fashioned coat thrown over the foot of the bed.

_Hannah?_

He hadn't seen her since….well, since the very beginning of the case, but her name had come up a few times. She was quiet in a different way to Cas; the kind of quiet that made her blend into walls and slip from people's minds when they loosened their tongues in conversation. If Hannah was here, she must've overheard something, and whatever it was had driven her to do something about it that somehow led her here.

_I wonder if Cas knows she's here. She's her own person, but maybe she should talk to him at some point since they're both in now both in deep._

When he returned, the atmosphere had taken a serious turn. Gabe was sitting in a stool by Charlie, while Benny and Meg leaned on the counter in the kitchen, heads bent towards each other in whispered conversation. Kevin, Adam, and Jo were still eating from the makeshift spread they'd made on the coffee table, but the boy's study attempts had fallen flat as they'd both turned to focus on Charlie.

"I've created a program that can help us narrow things down. Jody and Donna were the first ones to ask if such a thing was possible, and I said yes, but before they could follow up with me on it I was sidelined. Not good for chain of evidence and whatnot for an unapproved civilian like me to stick around, which was for the best, because I need at least 72 hours to adjust to the fact that the FBI is in town," Charlie rambled, fingers flying over the keyboard as Gabe took the flash drive from him. "I won't say I've _done_ anything to garner their attention, but it's best if our paths don't cross, you know?"

"Ditto," Meg smirked.

"What about the cameras?" Gabe asked, to which Charlie made a pained noise and scrunched her nose. Sam could already tell by her aura that the answer wasn't going to be as good as they'd hoped.

"The angle I _thought_ would be some good ended up being crap. He had his hood up and shades on," she pouted, closing some windows to make room for more before perking up. "_But_, there was something noticeable about the shots I got."

She opened up a photo gallery containing grainy stills from a security camera, picking a specific one and zooming in on it.

Sam and Gabe moved in sync, leaning it to study the flash of metal and dark stone on the hooded figure's thumb. His raised hand obscured what was left of his profile after the hood and sunglasses, but the ring stood out. The trapped, dark smudges of aura that outlined his figure the camera had tried to capture was further confirmation for Sam, who was the only one that could see the hidden malevolent layer to the shot.

"Same ring?" Gabe asked, and Sam nodded, straightening back up to look at the figure.

"Definitely. Too bad we can't see his face, but it shouldn't matter for long if this works out," Sam said, reassuring a still contrite Charlie over the anticlimax of the security camera.

"I guess. I couldn't get much detail from it, but it's a pretty dated looking ring, like an heirloom or something, " Charlie said absently as she reopened new program windows. "This might take me a few minutes. Don't be alarmed if the fan starts going into hyperdrive."

Gabe shied away with a mild look of alarm as her laptop fans began to do just that. Meg took the opportunity to slide into the conversation, dark eyes flicking between him and Gabe with unabashed scrutiny.

"You know, when I served you at the Roadhouse for all those months, I never thought you'd make a move on Sam," she commented bluntly, purple aura curling around her with sharp satisfaction as Gabe spluttered in shock.

"I don't even want to _entertain_ this line of conversation! I only made like two or three comments about Sam," Gabe squawked, crossing his arms and half turning away from Meg. Of course, that only put him closer to Sam's line of sight, triggering a new round of embarrassment as Gabe had to now make his case to an amused (if confused) Sam.

"How long did you have your eye on me?" Sam asked, the momentary confusion turning into full amusement as he watched Gabe's aura glow with peachy orange embarrassment.

"You made a very cute waiter," Gabe grumbled, turning his nose up as Meg began to snicker at his expense. "I only saw you a handful of times, but you were easily the hottest part of my work nights sometimes."

"He definitely made _more_ than a few comments about how cute you were, but I can't even be mad when he's right," Meg sighed, rapping her chipped nail polished fingers against the counter. "Looking that good at the end of an 8-hour shift at midnight should be a crime."

It was Sam's turn to sport a flushed face, but luckily, Kevin sidled up with empty plates and a keen desire to talk business reflected in his aura before Meg could press her advantage too far.

"Don't give me that look," Meg sighed, pinning Kevin with a dark glower as Benny began the arduous process of cleaning the kitchen.

The _look_ was one Sam was intimately familiar with. It was the same intent gaze that caused adults in the past to question their entire existence in the face of Kevin's genius and authority figures to waver whenever he leveled it their way when they were being unfair.

He wasn't surprised when Meg's aura retreated slightly or when her glower softened and crumbled a few seconds into the _look_. Sam hadn't met anyone that was able to resist it when it was turned their way, but he admired her attempt regardless.

"_Fine_. Damn, no need to be dramatic," Meg snapped, wrinkling her nose as Kevin shifted from the _look_ mode to a satisfied smile.

"The timetable on demon blood has been moved up," Meg announced with a sigh, dissatisfied with the bad news she was delivering. "Too many gangs have sampled it and got hooked, and word got out. Even the twig here heard about it at the parties he's circulated through, and no offense Kevin, but the parties you go to are pretty low grade."

_Low grade? _Sam thought, alarmed by Meg's standards as he recalled how Kevin had run in fear for his life from one such event after running into a handful of Dead Eyes. _What kind of parties has Meg _gone_ to?_

"They're the ones I hear about," Kevin grumbled, deeply offended.

"Wait-does this mean they're starting to distribute it?" Gabe asked, raising a hand to halt the potential argument between the two.

Meg shook her head. "No, but certain gangs have started getting deliveries, and they're already fighting for selling rights. Just last night, the Dead Eyes and The Vipers got duped by someone that said they had demon blood and ended up having a shootout that blew a block into high heaven."

"We think that might've been facilitated by the killer," Gabe said grimly. "Do you know any information about how the meeting was set up between the two; if it even was a meeting?"

"Not much. Just that one guy approached the Dead Eyes and said he had a load he wanted to sell. Never mentioned anything about the Vipers, and I assume he did the same with the Vipers," Meg said, running her fingernail along the counter. "One guy only. No name, no face, but he talked like he was familiar with the streets."

"It's too vague to be sure, but it could've been the killer just as easily as it couldn't have," Sam mused, rubbing his jaw. "It's too convenient that the shootout occurred just a block from Hoffman's place at the same time he got snatched."

"And no, we can't answer too many questions about that," Gabe said as Kevin opened his mouth. "It's bad enough we're doing this. A court would frown heavily on the way we're going about things right now."

Kevin relented with a sigh and grudging nod. He knew better than anyone (besides Sam at least) how the justice system worked and the dos and don'ts of a criminal investigation. Sam himself had gotten entangled in so much red tape that it was a miracle they hadn't broken any serious laws yet.

_Excluding my venture at the WM library with Gabe, that is._

Sam counted that as a freebie since unlike Dean, _he_ had a squeaky clean record, and if he was going to stretch laws it might as well be for something as vital as _that_. Not that it made much difference in the face of the fact that he had trespassed on a crime scene.

"Then there's one last thing you should know," Kevin said, turning sheepish as he glanced down the hall. "There's one more person that's _technically_ part of this meeting?"

Sam and Gabe pretended to appear caught off guard; Gabe more than Sam since he had the excuse of having gone to get the flash drive to have seen the "one more person" in question.

"I thought I saw someone in your room. Who is it?" Sam asked nonchalantly after exchanging a glance with his amused boyfriend.

"Hannah Novak. She said she met you two early on by linking you guys with her brother for some language consulting? We ran into each other as she was coming off campus, and she looked really spooked by something. Like, almost panicking spooked."

In the kitchen, Meg dropped some silverware. The clatter was largely masked by the fact that she dropped it into the sudsy sink, but Sam could see the visceral reaction in her aura, turning the violets pale with startled recognition at Hannah's name. She muttered something to Benny before turning and making a beeline for the door, hands dipping into her jacket for the smoke waiting in her pocket.

Sam caught her eye on her way out with the thought of intercepting her, but let the idea go when he saw her face. Meg was too unsettled to confront her former best friend's little sister; especially when she hadn't seen Cas himself in years. She must've assumed it was only Cas in town, and from the way her aura swirled around her shoulders in agitated bursts of purple, Meg was most likely compounding her worry for Cas along with Hannah.

_It's better if she sees Cas first. If they ever see each other, _Sam thought, chewing his lip. He could still remember how angry Cas had been, and how adamant Meg was that she stayed away from Cas for what she believed to be his own good.

"She was on campus? What for? She's not still working there, is she?" he asked, frown deepening.

"Student workers aren't required to be on campus, but Hannah's dedicated, so I assume she was working. I couldn't get much out of her," Kevin said helplessly, spreading his hands. "All she said was that she had to talk to the P.I that talked to her brother. That and something about a mess in the history building's basement, but she just got more incoherent when I asked her about _that_. I had to calm her down in a Starbucks before I could get her back here."

"We must've just missed each other," Sam mumbled, mind already racing at the vague bits that Kevin had given him. For Hannah to be that upset about something was uncharacteristic, and the comment about the basement only made him think about the unsettling fact that not only was a large part of LU old enough to have more than a few subterranean secrets but that the history building was undoubtedly one of the oldest.

"The program is up! I'm feeding the data into it now, but there's a lot on this flash drive, and I might have to help it figure out what goes where. The woes of manual verification," Charlie sighed, her mini victory dance at her original announcement cut short as a window popped up. "Be glad none of you are CS majors."

"I leave the majors and minors and whatever the hell else higher academia has to offer to you bright youngsters," Gabe replied, glancing at Adam and the open textbook in front of him that was thicker than a dictionary with a shudder. "I'm glad to be a P.I."

"I should wake her," Kevin said, looking as if that was the very last thing he wanted to do.

"You should," Sam replied, leaving no room for Kevin to wiggle out of. However much he loved Kevin, his friend couldn't sidle out of every awkward situation when he wanted to, and it was time to break the habit.

Kevin scowled at him, but Sam took the expression with a regal grace that couldn't be argued with. A moment later, he huffed and turned on his heel, walking down the hall like a man striding to the gallows.

"The uncle side of you just came out right then. Very authoritative," Gabe remarked.

"Shut up," Sam said mildly, tugging him back towards the armchair. "Come sit with me."

"Of course, _sir_."

Sam arched an eyebrow at the cherry red running through Gabe's aura and his brash smile before nudging him back with an eye roll.

"That's just weird coming from you."

"You're right," Gabe sighed, walking backward until he hit the armchair, which he flopped into with the smile still on his face. "I'm just too scornful of authority figures. But perhaps I can get _you_ to call _me_ sir."

"Good turnabout!" Charlie called, reminding an extremely embarrassed Sam that they had an audience.

"I'll get you back later," he hissed as they elbowed each other for space in the armchair, not feeling nearly as charitable with affection as they had the first time.

Gabe only smirked and kicked his knee, getting a leg over the arm and bringing an expectant spark to his gold aura.

"I'm counting on it."

…

Hannah's aura revealed more about her than her face did.

Her stoicism must've been something encouraged in the Novak family, but whatever the reason, Sam got more from the earthy amber colors that swirled around her than her carefully drawn face. From it, he could see that she was still a bit sleepy, extremely hungry, and worried. So worried and agitated in fact that the deep umber color ate away at the edges of her aura, only abating when she caught sight of Gabe waiting for her at the counter.

Benny handed her a plate, and Gabe got her situated so everyone could hear her as she launched into her tale after she wolfed down her food with a speed that would've put Dean at his hungriest to shame.

"There's more where that came from," Benny said, already taking the plate off her hands.

"Much obliged," Hannah said with a small smile before it faded from her face. "I kind of lost my lunch earlier when I…found what I found."

"Why do I get the feeling I'm about to hear a horror story?" Jo asked, biting her lip as she sidled closer to Benny. Meg still hadn't returned, and Sam didn't think she would until Hannah was gone.

"It isn't pleasant," Hannah warned, glass clutched in her hand and trembling just the slightest. Her face was still blank, but her striking eyes gave away how serious she was.

"Then I'll make cocoa," Benny said firmly, slapping his hands gently against the counter before pushing off. "Everyone sit down, and out of the kitchen with you Jo!"

Everyone shuffled into position, not daring to ignore the rare assertive tone in Benny's voice. Charlie and Hannah remained at the counter with Gabe while Sam retreated to the armchair. Jo, Adam, and Kevin sat on the couch, a bit closer than normal for both subconscious support and because they had no other choice. The sagging couch swallowed them up just like it did everyone else.

"Don't mind me," Gabe said, slipping into work mode as he pulled out his black journal and a pen. "This is all fairly informal, but depending on what you say, we may have to go to the police."

"That's alright," Hannah said, taking a fortifying sip from her glass before continuing, "As long as I get to call Castiel first. He'll be mad if I talk to them without him."

"That's an understatement," Sam murmured, only loud enough for himself to hear, but he knew by the brief flare of amusement in Gabe's aura that he was thinking along similar lines.

"So, where does this all start?"

"Um…this afternoon, I guess," Hannah sighed, frowning as she began to recollect. "Campus was closed, but I live in the dorms, and it seemed silly of me to waste my time doing nothing in my room when I could head over to the history building. I didn't _really_ want to work, but I was tired of being a sitting duck. Besides, people are getting unruly with all the limitations in the dorms, and I like my peace.

"I headed over, and it was nearly empty as I expected. There were only a few people there besides staff, and I got assigned some trivial basement duty. Just checking on the archives, making sure nothing was too out of place, and that everything important was preserved in case spring flooding caused water damage. It's an old building; it happens. I'm one of the few people that can go down there by myself without being scared of my wits, but…well, I don't think that's happening anymore."

Hannah's aura filled with a crackling, dark umber spike of fear that she struggled to tamp down.

"Did you find something in the basement?" Gabe asked, pen scribbling along as he spoke just before Hannah sunk too deep into her anxiety, gently tugging her back on track.

"Below the basement," Hannah murmured before shaking her head slightly and speaking louder. "It's not common knowledge, but there's a condemned lower level to the basement in the building. Anytime a senior member of the staff spoke of it, it was only to say that it was taped off, unusable, and filled with all sorts of nasty stuff. Mold, stagnant water, you name it. I never bothered to go looking for it, so I didn't know _exactly_ where it was since no one ever said, but I had my suspicions.

"When I heard the noises, I thought I was just imagining it. The pipes make all sorts of strange sounds, not to mention everything else that comes with a basement," Hannah said, eyes fixed on her glass with a faraway gaze. "But then the noises…_changed_. They became less distinct and more nameable. It sounded like…a _person_, coming up from the depths."

Jo and Kevin's auras took predictable turns into fear. Sam glanced at them and hoped they'd be able to make it through the end of Hannah's tale with Adam's slightly less fearful presence to reign them in.

"Did you see who it was?"

Hannah shook her head. "No. By the time I even considered it might be a person, the noises stopped. I kept working for about 10 more minutes, debating if I should even investigate, but curiosity eventually overcame me. That, and the smell."

"_Please_ don't tell me you smelled a dead body," Kevin said, horrified.

"No, nothing like that," Hannah denied with a vigorous head shake. "It was…_rotten_, like sewage. I logically thought that maybe there was a pipe leak, and something like that would be devastating in the building. It was gross, and I didn't _want_ to look for it what with the odd noises I heard, but someone had to check.

"You didn't get anyone to come down with you?"

Hannah shook her head with a wry smile. "I'm...not that well-liked on staff, and I'm only a freshman. I would've been dismissed, and it seemed a waste of time when I was already in the basement.

"I followed the smell down, and eventually came across a short hallway with the taped off door. It's not too hard to find, but the path to get to it isn't clean at all and very dark. I had to pull out my phone for light."

"You're much braver than I would've been," Kevin muttered with a nod of agreement from Jo.

"I had my duties," Hannah replied solemnly, and for a moment, she sounded exactly like Cas.

"When I got closer, I could see that the tape had been broken, and the door was unlocked when I touched it."

"You opened it?" Gabe asked, not accusing in the least, but Hannah's face reflected a bit of shame and repentance.

"I know it was a bad idea, but…my mind didn't go to the immediate worst scenario. I was still rational at that point, and the door swung open easily," she said, aura battling between fear and logic.

"Was there anyone down there?"

"No. I only went down about halfway down the stairs; just enough to see the whole room," Hannah said, the tremble back in her hands. "It was very dark and musty. I didn't even bother trying the lights. Rats squeaked in the corners, the fat kinds that my farm friends hated because they'd chew and eat their way through a cellar if they weren't dealt with. There was a lot of broken furniture and file cabinets, and a few inches or so of standing water on the floor. I couldn't tell how much, but it wasn't completely flooded. What spooked me the most was the far wall."

At this, Hannah's aura took a strange turn from fear to apprehension as she looked at the people crammed on the couch. She looked hesitant to speak the next part in front of them, but most of all, she looked downright unwilling to speak in front of _Sam_ when she glanced back at him with her wavering blue eyes.

A shiver ran down Sam's back as he held Hannah's gaze. It was the first time in her tale he'd really gotten a proper look into her eyes, and his gut feeling began to twinge with an insistency that only put him more on edge as her mouth pressed into a sad line.

"There was blood, and I _knew_ it was blood and not red paint because of the smell. Someone had painted all over the wall in Enochian, but sloppily as if they'd done it in a hurry. There was a shelving unit that was out of line, and behind it, I could see a sliver of a doorframe. I suppose there's a path that leads deeper below ground through that door, but I didn't go that far. As soon as I saw the Enochian, I knew I had to leave."

There was a beat of taut silence that everyone seemed loath to break, even Gabe. Sam took the opportunity to watch the pale beige ripple across Hannah's aura, cutting through the last of the fear with something else: a lie, or more specifically, something being held back.

_She saw something even more concerning down there she's not telling us._

Gabe glanced back at him, seeking out silent counsel. Sam could see in his aura that he too knew Hannah was hiding something, but whether or not they pushed her now in front of an audience…

_The others have heard enough. We can pull her aside and ask her later._

Sam shook his head just the slightest. Gabe inclined his head at him and clicked his pen with decisiveness, breaking the silence.

"And you're sure the noises you heard suggested someone coming up from that door?"

Hannah nodded. "Very sure. I hightailed it out of there when I thought I heard noises coming from that hidden door I caught a glimpse of. That was when I got really scared."

"People noises?"

At this, Hannah grew less sure of herself and could only offer a shrug, dark hair brushing her shoulders.

"Maybe. Might've been the rats, but I heard _something_ coming from that door, and I didn't want to stick around to find out what it was. I ran back upstairs, but by that point it was late, and just about everyone was gone save for a few staff. It was easy for me to leave. I didn't tell any of them what I found, which was dumb of me, but they wouldn't have believed me, or they would've spent too long debating with me over it when I needed to use that time to find someone who _would_ believe me."

She let out a big sigh and grasped her glass with both hands, staring down into it with a mixture of relief and renewed tiredness.

"I'd like to call my brother now," she asked meekly, and her soft words spurred everyone into renewed action.

Benny began handing out the now ready cocoa as Gabe called Cas, letting Hannah speak with him before explaining the situation in more depth himself. Jo and Kevin were visibly unnerved by what they'd heard, no doubt realizing that things were far more serious than they appeared at surface level. Adam wasn't quite as frightened as them, but he readily accepted the cocoa and the shoulder pat Sam gave him when he wandered over to briefly check up on them.

"How's it going?" he asked Charlie. She'd remained largely quiet ever since Hannah began recounting her earlier venture in the basement, eyes fixed on her computer.

"Interestingly," she said, chewing on a thumbnail. There was a degree of unsettlement that stirred up some of the darker colors in her aura, but like Adam, she didn't appear too shaken. "I think…well, I can't be sure until I'm done checking, but…"

She pulled up a window and gestured for him to come closer, jabbing her finger at an entry on what Sam realized was a login tracker.

"Remember when I said the guy was sneakily logging into the system? I first tracked all the times he used Reynold's, and then the ghost logins he was using. Those were harder, but luckily-or, er, _unluckily_-when the librarians were killed, I realized he started using theirs," she said, finger trailing down to names that Sam recognized.

"Wilkes and Olsen both appeared to have logged in post-humously; just twice each, but enough that it couldn't have been a fluke. It's _where_ he logged in from that confused me. Some were made from the library and a couple were made from other random computer labs across campus, but it was the ones in the history building that I never understood," Charlie continued, pointing out several before turning her head to look at him. "There aren't many computers in there, and it's not the most convenient location on campus despite its centrality. But if Hannah's right about that subbasement…"

"The history building would be the most convenient to _him_," Sam concluded.

Sam had to admit that he hadn't expected the underground theory to gain such unprecedented traction. The irony wasn't lost on him that the history building of all places could somehow be the location on campus that was the gateway to the long-lost tunnel system.

_And to think Gabe and I were there a few weeks ago at the start of all this._

"It's still pulling data from the files just from the sheer volume, but the process is going faster," Charlie said, pulling up a progress bar that was about ¾ filled. "Five more minutes or so."

"Sam? We've got parents en-route," Kevin interjected bashfully, holding up his phone.

"One responsible Winchester coming up," Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair and hoping he could pull together the persona just enough to sate the worries of whoever showed up. He crossed his fingers that Ellen wasn't one of the parents coming. She sometimes saw through him like he was glass.

"Should I throw a sheet over the hacking station?" Charlie asked innocently.

"You could be the cable repairman," Jo suggested to her, dark eyes sparkling as she sipped her cocoa. She'd bounced back as quickly as Sam hoped.

"We'll just meet them in the lobby. Everyone under 18 get your shit together," Sam said firmly, gesturing for them to hustle. "Kevin, who's coming exactly?"

"Uh, my mom and Jo's?"

Damn. The worst possible combination to fool, and both he and Kevin knew it. The wince they exchanged was not lost on Gabe, who let Hannah take his phone and gestured for her to go back to Kevin's room for some privacy before coming over.

"Am I going to have to help prop up the "responsible Winchester" façade?" he asked.

"Perhaps, but I think you'd hurt more than help my act," Sam replied dryly.

Gabe gasped with a faux wounded look on his face, but let it lie in order to help gather up the empty mugs scattered about the apartment. They were now even from earlier, but Sam was sure they'd get right back to picking at each other when they had the chance. It was just too much _fun_ not to.

"I really want to know who it might be," Jo admitted to Sam as they rushed about cleaning the apartment and getting ready to leave.

"I think everyone does," Sam remarked. The atmosphere was frazzled from the hubbub, but beneath it was an undercurrent of anticipation that stretched their patience thin. After weeks of torment, the possibility that they could put a name to the killer was just too tempting to avoid the pull of.

The ding of Charlie's laptop had an almost comical effect of freezing everyone into place, heads whipping around to look at her and watch as she opened a program window.

"It's ready," she announced, breaking the fragile, fraught silence of anticipation.

Sam just barely kept Gabe from tripping in his rush to get over to the counter. Kevin and Adam bumped into each other, tangled up in their half shrugged on coats, and stumbling over untied shoes. Jo was more graceful, but her aura was aglow with eagerness, the adventure put back into the night and turning her aura a brilliant shade of teal as she leaned over the counter with an equally curious Benny in tandem. Hannah slipped over to Charlie's side like a shadow, silently palming Gabe's phone to Sam with a soft smile before she fixed intense blue eyes on the laptop.

_This is it._

"I could go over the intricacies of my program, but we don't have time for that, so just know that I invested a lot of hours and caramel lattes into it," Charlie said, fingers rapping on the edge of her laptop to keep them from the keys. She was raring to go, her aura practically chomping at the bit to push the program to its limits. "So! Keywords, if you would, P.I Milton extraordinaire."

Gabe had been fumbling for his journal, so excited that his haste made him clumsy, but the question stilled him in a way that ran right through his frenzied aura. His focus sharpened and condensed, putting a controlled fire in his eyes that Sam wanted nothing more than to see in private and up close.

"He's a white male between 18 to 22, but 22 is pushing it in my opinion. His grievances with the librarians would have been within the last 5 years as a result. I believe he majors in computer science, but if he's young enough that he hasn't declared his major, I don't know how much use that will be."

"Can still be useful," Charlie said, fingers flying away. "But we still need to minnow it down."

"He'll have taken a linguistics course, or a specialized history elective," Sam added. "He learned Enochian somehow, and it was on campus. Hannah, do you have any idea which classes would cover Enochian to such a degree that it'd catch his interest? I know the class I took wouldn't have been enough to do it."

Hannah looked startled at being addressed but quickly composed herself as she mulled over the academic question lobbed at her.

"Only three," she said after a moment's thought. "The linguistics course my brother took is too high of a level for him to have taken if he's not a history major. That only leaves a 200 level lost cultures history elective and a religious studies elective."

"The religious studies elective," Sam and Gabe said simultaneously before looking at each other and smiling a bit.

"It makes more sense, what with all his references to religion," Gabe said, his pen twirling through his fingers in a quickening blur. "Let's hope the class is just rare enough to cut down our choices."

"Oh, it is," Hannah assured before telling Charlie the proper class name. The program was somehow connected to the university's database, an impressive feat that Sam knew they wouldn't be able to tell anyone of.

"We've narrowed it down to…56," Charlie declared.

"Damn," Gabe said, chewing on his lip as he opened his journal and began to flip through it for some other tidbit they could feed into the program to help them out. Time was ticking, and they could all feel it.

_There has to be something else we can use…_

"Can you narrow it down to _who_ kicked the student out?" Sam asked, the faintest threads of a hunch coalescing in his mind.

"Since the librarians got that specific with their master list, I can. Got someone in mind?"

"Olsen," Sam said, and upon feeling curious eyes, explained further after a mild hair tug. "Wilkes was treated similarly to previous victims, but Olsen…Olsen got special treatment. I think he had a special grievance against her."

"He's right," Gabe said, shooting him a proud look that warmed Sam in a pleasant way. "It's more likely than not Olsen was the one that gave him the original boot."

"And since she hardly left her desk, surely that reduces the possibilities?" Adam asked as Charlie inputted the new parameters.

Everyone held their breath, waiting for Charlie to announce the new magic number.

"Eight."

_That's a far manageable amount._

"Look at Sam putting that big brain to use," Jo crowed as Kevin and Adam pounded him on the back.

"It's not like I made an earth-shattering revelation," Sam mumbled, ducking his head in embarrassment.

"But it might've just cracked the case," Gabe said gleefully, snaking an arm around his waist and grinning at him like he'd taken the weight of the world off his shoulders. "Does anyone recognize those names? We might have to look deeper into them, but…"

"Miller."

People quieted down as Hannah leaned over Charlie's shoulder to peer at the laptop screen. Her dark sweep of hair shielded her face from Sam's angle, but the tone of her voice and the flare of her aura was more than enough to reveal she'd been hit by a revelation.

"Max Miller," she said quietly. "He's a regular at the history building. He's asked Castiel a few questions about Enochian. And he was there today when I found that door."

_Max Miller._

The name was ordinary; unrecognizable to Sam. He didn't know this person in real life, but as Charlie's fingers flew across the keyboard to pull up every scrap of information she could, the unassuming moniker slid into place like a glove along with the other names in Sam's head.

The Crucifier. Death. Max Miller. Were they all one person?

"Hannah, does he wear a ring on his thumb?" Gabe asked, breaking the hush that had fallen over them when Hannah picked him from the list.

"Yes. He said it was an old class ring from a family member. Gold, with a blue stone," Hannah replied, eyes wide and hand creeping up to cover her mouth. "Is he-is he really…?"

"Perhaps," Gabe said, ever the professional, but Sam could see the doubts lessening in his aura. "We can't be sure yet. But right now, he's a suspect."

_The only suspect we have, and a strong one at that._

Kevin's phone rang, signaling that it was time for half of the assembled party to leave. There were some protests, but the immediate goal had been achieved, and parents were waiting after all.

"Not a word of this to anyone," Sam warned just before he opened the door to escort them down.

Kevin, Jo, and Adam gazed back; Jo with innocent eyes and Kevin and Adam with an identical tell flickering in their separate and very different auras.

"OK, anyone _except_ your friend Alfie," Sam conceded, ignoring the discrete fist bump the two exchanged out of the corner of his eye.

"But seriously, _don't_ tell anyone else," Gabe said as they left, fixing a surprisingly stern look on the younger three. "This is police work now. If word gets out, things can go sour fast for all of us."

A chorus of "yes sirs" and "yes Mr. Milton" went up, putting a priceless expression on Gabe's face. Sam snickered and shut the door before he could squawk indignantly at how all the unnecessary respect made him feel old; he could just see a rant building up in his aura.

Ellen and Mrs. Tran were waiting in the lobby, talking with hushed voices in what looked like an in-depth conversation they dropped as soon as the group came into view. Their auras were a combined wall of maternal color; one marbled pink and white, and the other a vibrant red, co-existing in a strange way that Sam had long learned only occurred when mothers were in proximity.

"I'm sorry you had to deal with all this fuss Sam," Mrs. Tran said, reaching up to pat his cheek and examine him with a critical eye that Sam could never escape whenever he saw her. "We don't want to be overbearing, but with everything that's been going on…"

"It's just best to be careful," Ellen finished, coming up to greet him with a hug. "You look pale, Sam. Don't tell me you're coming down with a cold."

"Winchesters don't get sick," Sam recited dutifully, quietly absorbing her familiar aura. He hadn't realized it until now, but after years of working and being around the Harvelles, he'd missed the familiarity of their auras.

"Don't give me that bullcrap John fed you," she replied mildly, pulling back to hold him at shoulder's length. "Tell that new boyfriend of yours to warm you up better!"

Sam groaned in embarrassment, looking up to the ceiling for supplication as his friends ooh'ed behind their hands and shot him shit-eating grins.

"How do you even _know_ about that?" Sam asked before looking at Ellen's aura and her expression with narrowed eyes.

"_Lisa_? But she just found out today!" he said, answering his own question with exasperation.

"There's something called a phone that we use from time to time, particularly on Fridays. You should give it a try more often," Ellen said with a small smile and twinkling eyes.

Sam grunted, only appeased by how pleased and genuinely happy her aura showed she was for him. Mrs. Tran's was the same, and the combined warmth; both different, but fundamentally the same, eased his ruffled pride.

"Maybe I will if people would stop _teasing_ me behind their mother's backs," Sam said, pinning a bitch face at Kevin and Jo, who were making kissy faces and using Adam as a prop for their exaggerated wooing expressions. Adam took it like a good sport, his blue and gray aura mildly amused by their antics.

"We should get going," Mrs. Tran said, leveling a look at Kevin that got him to cut it out and straighten up so quickly that he nearly knocked his own beanie off. It was clear where'd he'd gotten _his_ look from. "I have to give a call back to Lottie. Even though I'm off the P.T.A, they still call me from time to time when something happens."

"What's got them ringing you up now?" Ellen asked as they ambled towards the door, Sam trailing behind just to complete his duty as the responsible Winchester.

"Apparently, Mr. Frazier hasn't been heard from all day. He missed a conference call, and for some reason, they think_ I_ might know what he's up to. As if even I could get through to that recluse," Mrs. Tran sighed, pushing open the door and holding it for her son and accompanying friends to go on ahead before looking back at him. "You take care now, Sam. And congratulations on finding romance in the middle of all this crap! Only a Winchester could pull off such a feat."

"Ain't that the damn truth," Ellen sighed jealously before fixing him a stern look. "I'd say don't do anything Dean or John wouldn't do, but…"

"That'd be a wholly useless sentiment," Sam finished with a smile. One time a few years ago, Ellen had absent-mindedly told him "not to do anything Dean wouldn't do" at the end of a shift and he'd nearly busted a rib laughing at the ridiculousness of her statement. After that, it'd become an old joke between them.

Sam watched as they drove off, only turning away once their headlights pulled out of sight. His thoughts were tumultuous, but not in a bad way; just _busy_ as they got caught up on threads that seemed to go nowhere and new connections that Sam couldn't quite travel down yet until they'd settled.

They now had a name. Of course, they'd have to go through the compiled list of eight to be certain, but Sam had a suspicion that Max Miller, whoever he was, would be the strongest suspect of them all.

His certainty didn't just come from Hannah's testimony. Sam's gut instinct was going off about as close to a klaxon alarm as it got, warning him that things had just stepped up several notches. Death was one big step closer to being unmasked, but it would take a lot more than a potential name to do it properly.

Sam knew that the killer wouldn't let himself be caught so easily, not when he'd come this far and spread so much vicious terror across Lawrence. Death would take down as many as he could with him, and Sam would have to be careful that the people he cared about weren't dragged along.

He'd had already lost his mother to a serial killer. Sam wasn't losing anyone else to another.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE

July's been a rough month. My summer class picked up in workload at the beginning of it and I ended up having to write a 15 pg paper on the Salem Witch Trials over the course of a week, and then there was a very stressful few days when I thought my financial aid for the upcoming semester wouldn't process in time. It was only when my summer class finished (Got an A on the paper!) and my aid was processed just a couple days ago that I could buckle down and finish this chapter.

Anyway, explanation aside, here's the big reveal! I did say ages ago that the killer himself wasn't ever a major character in canon; Max is from season 1 and was one of the special children chosen by Azazel, hence my reasoning in picking him. Besides that, and some choice scenes, I'm not a fan of this chapter, but it was necessary. I do like the chapter title though! It's from that Shakespeare quote, and I think it's apt given the nature of the chapter.

Also I've been going over Chromaticity, and wow was my writing mindset different. Once I finish this series, I'll definitely be editing it, because the continuity errors and grammar that slipped past are ridiculous in hindsight. To clarify, Alfie and Zeke are **half-brothers, not son and father**! I don't even know how that happened…no wonder people have beta readers!


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